#maybe 3 months afterward at the earliest

[violet-dragongirl]

I'd say if the one thing that could've been in many other cover-fire shooters and run down into the ground and horribly capitalized and made horribly mid and awful as the years went by (especially the years of 2014-current) is the variation and uniqueness that is the Active Reload of Gears of War. And the game that I feel like should've really gotten into that mechanic either out of spite or just plain silly parody, is Borderlands. More on that in a moment.

And like I get it. When it comes to that minigame (arguably, it mechanically IS a minigame that also you do NOT have to play through), it IS what makes GoW one of--if not THE--King of cover-fire action third person shooters of ALL time mechanically. Like that HAS to be one of the mechanical and instrumental play reasons why people come back to that series.

I find it funny that like...it's a mechanic that really didn't break out of the Gears franchise and that we could see (and later on hate for one reason or another) varied and unique takes on such a fucking concept and execution of the simple shooter foundational system such as reload.

And I think in ways, if there isn't another game that placed that as an entire system for like...at the very least an endgame class or character skill, or like even as the whole game's thing as well in a refreshing unique way, that like...any attempt in doing so is going to make that game overall "fail". Partly because it will remind you of Gears so much you'll consider that game a Ripoff right from any gameplay preview trailer, but also because it's just...no one's really tried to compete creatively on the applications of such a minigame in any other cover-fire third person shooter, or just shooter in general.

And if ANY game were to try to make their own derivative/transformation of that specific mechanic, it really should've been Borderlands. Like...not one particular Legendary gun (it'd be boring and probably a mid weapon on the Min-Maxing scale of Endgame things). I'm talking about at the very least having one in-game corporation (Vladof, Jakobs, Maliwan, Hyperion, etc) to functionally have that as their Thing (like Tediore has you throwing your dry mag gun as a grenade in BL2 and BL3...and they really should've put in a Longbow Grenade effect into those..maybe they did in Tiny Tina's Wonderlands...I digress). I honestly would've enjoyed that regardless of how long (or short) it took to be ultimately Boring mechanically.

And to have that minigame tied into the RPG and stat systems of Borderlands, I really think there would be some very interesting results of gunplay there. Again, length of time until boredom is Moot, just the fact that it happened in another franchise entirely as a core function of the game would pique my interest just enough for me to try it out.

I dunno just something I've noticed over the years of playing so many shooters that like...while there isn't much room of reinnovative or outright new creativity for a shooter (we've done two weapon systems, sliding, kick sliding, blind fire, 9+ weapons on the protag at ALL times, RPG style mechanics of reloading systems and other similar mechanics, stylized unique guns in looters, attachment management and mechanics, melee/handgun action, melee action, animation reload tricks (and varying speeds for anyone who's into the Meta of a fucking game) and so much more), like...that is the one minigame of instrumental play and general mechanics that we really could've seen the boom of creative rise and fall of and just...didn't.

Probably because it's a distant reminder of the Quick Time Event (which also arguably, the Active Reload system in Gears of War IS a quick time event), which from what I've experienced and heard of within the circles of hell that is the shooter genre, is fucking Awful to have as an instrumental play mechanic.

And if it isn't that then...well...eesh.

[enterthecuttlezone]

Time Is What It Is

Chapter I of The Ministry of Time An unofficial novelization Based on the screenplay by Javier Olivares and Pablo Olivares Adapted by me :3

-

PRÓLOGO


Flanders, 1569

When the sun rose over the Belgian countryside, the battle— more accurately, the massacre— was already over. 

Something had gone horribly wrong. The Spanish army was the most advanced in the world, handsomely financed, its tercio structure decades ahead of its time. And yet hundreds of dead men, almost exclusively soldiers of the Spanish army, were lying in the earth, the colors of their uniforms, faces, hands now the color of the mud. A team of men went around picking up the bodies. As they hoisted life after wasted life into their cart, they had to wonder to themselves— Who allowed this to happen?

At the site of the Spanish army’s camp, a Belgian castle conquered and occupied, the captain Fernández summoned his direct subordinate, Alonso de Entrerríos, to testify on the disaster on the battlefield. This meeting would have been routine, mundane, even constructive under different circumstances. Before the battle occurred, Fernández had it in his mind that he would meet with Alonso afterward to discuss what worked, what didn’t, and how to improve their strategy, whether to call for reinforcements, whether to advance even further. But now he knew the meeting he’d imagined would be impossible. Instead of sending a messenger to Alonso, telling him to report at his earliest convenience, Fernández sent two soldiers, armed, with orders to bring the man to him immediately— by force, if necessary. Fernández knew someone had to take the blame for the outstanding SNAFU, and if he knew one more thing, it was that it wasn’t going to be him.

The moment Alonso’s battered, mud-stained boots made contact with the Spanish army camp grounds, they suddenly found themselves escorted by guards to the room where the anxious officer waited. His back to the door, Fernández turned as he heard the sextet of boots enter the room.

‹Thou attackedst before it was time!› accused the captain. ‹Why didst thou do it?›

Alonso was a serious, once wiry but now emaciated man. Thirty and some years old, battle-weary, muddied and bloodied, he replied, ‹Because thou didst order it so.›

‹Hast thou witnesses who can attest to what thou sayest?›

‹If the dead could speak, I would.›

‹Thou liest,› said the captain, picking up a rod from the table behind him. He turned back to Alonso and yelled, ‹Thou liest!›

He moved to strike Alonso with the stick but Alonso grabbed it mid-swing and held it firm. Quietly but threateningly, Alonso replied, ‹I never lie.›

The captain looked at him as if he were mad.

‹Arrest him!› he yelled.

But before the soldiers could, Alonso grabbed the captain and exploded into rage. ‹They all died for thee!› he yelled. ‹All of them!›

The two guards could barely restrain the tall Alonso as he elbowed and kicked and bit with all his might. He knew there was no hope for him, but he had to do everything he could to give the traitorous Fernández what he deserved. One guard stepped away, and picked up a chair by the door. While Alonso was attacking the captain, he neglected to watch his back. The guard raised the chair and hit Alonso over the head. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

One month later, Alonso was in Seville, shackled to the wall in a gloomy dungeon. His uniform had been traded out for thin, worn rags, and his face was now hidden by the long, tangled beard and hair of a prisoner. Even so, he lowered his gaze. His wife, Blanca, had come to see him. She was upset, to say the least.

‹Why didst thou attack him? He was thy superior!›

‹There are times when a man must do what he must do,› said Alonso. He knew that if he had to live that day over again, and if there was no way he could prevent the catastrophic battle from happening, the only thing he would change would be to give Fernández one extra kick in the groin. Maybe two.

‹Damned pride…› said Blanca. She took his head in her hands. ‹Because of it, tomorrow thy captain will be in his bed, and thou on the gallows.›

‹Then on the gallows will be a man with honor, and in the bed a scoundrel.›

Alonso lifted his head, composing himself. He smiled tenderly at his future widow. ‹Blanca, cry not. I’ve had a good life. I saw the world… I loved… I fought for my country. I have no regrets.›

He paused for a moment. ‹Do one thing for me.›

Blanca nodded.

‹Continue thy life,› said Alonso, ‹don’t look back.›

Blanca hesitated. Alonso didn’t notice as she brought her hand to her belly.

‹Alonso… I… ›

Before she could finish the thought, the jailer yelled from outside the cell, ‹Your time’s up! Out!›

As the jailer entered the cell, Blanca looked at Alonso, and kissed him, empty of all hope. The jailer grabbed her and pushed her towards the door.

‹Forget me, I beg of thee,› called Alonso.

‹It won’t be easy,› said Blanca.

And then Alonso was alone. His head dropped back down, and he was absorbed in his own mind, until an unknown voice brought him back to Earth.

‹Art thou Alonso de Entrerríos?›

Alonso recomposed himself. In front of him was a monk, whose face was obscured by a black hood.

‹Thou wastest time, Father,› said Alonso. ‹What I have to say to God I’ll tell Him tomorrow in person.›

The monk took off his hood, revealing a serious, middle-aged face. He was clean-shaven, with eyebrows that seemed perpetually quirked— but this of course was not what Alonso would remember most about him. ‹I’m not here for confession,› said the monk. ‹I’ve come to take thee out of this place… if thou wilt accept mine offer.›

Alonso’s eyes widened.

‹Wouldst thou like to work for a secret office of the Crown?›

‹A spy?› said Alonso, perplexed.

‹Something like that. Special assignments in strange places… Thou wilt be dead to the world, including Blanca, thy wife.›

At this, Alonso lost the smile that had creeped its way onto his face… but all the same, he offered his hands so that the monk would free them. The monk had keys, and seeing Alonso’s gesture, he opened the shackles.

‹Thou must be very powerful,› said Alonso as the chains came off. ‹Knowing how much these people like executions, it’s strange to me that they would cancel this one.›

‹It won’t be canceled: they’ll have their execution.›

The monk whistled in the direction of the door. Through it, two guards dragged in someone bound with rope and with a sack covering their head. Alonso watched, and, rubbing his reddened wrists, asked.

‹Who is it?›

The monk said, ‹For all intents and purposes, thyself.›

Alonso doubted… but finally reached down to take the sack off the prisoner’s head: there on the ground, bound and gagged, was the captain Fernández. Alonso exploded into laughter, incredulous. The captive captain looked up at him in despair.

‹Can I stay to watch the show?› Alonso asked the monk.

The monk flicked his wrist, appearing to examine the tight-fitting bracelet he wore upon it. Alonso saw that one link on the bracelet was bigger than the rest— a dull green rectangle with mysterious marks on it absorbed the monk’s interest. Alonso could have sworn one of the marks disappeared and then appeared again in an instant. The monk concluded: ‹We don’t have time.›

‹What is that?› asked Alonso, still peering at the watch. The monk, no slave to explanation, walked out the open cell door.

‹Let’s go!›

Alonso, astonished, followed him.

-

Barcelona, 1880

As the afternoon wore on, Amelia started to worry that the professor giving the lecture she was attending did not know what he was talking about. Amelia had devoured books since she was a girl, fascinated by literature and history. She was the only woman in the room— in fact, the only woman in the university’s entire student body. Her presence at the university was a testament to the vast knowledge she had accumulated even before enrolling in her first classes. Unfortunately, not everyone there fully appreciated what she had to share.

The lecture was on the Golden Age of Spanish literature, and the lecturer seemed to be having trouble with the idea that works of high art might take inspiration from the lowbrow.

‹Overall, I deny the influence of any contemporary author on Lope de Vega, glory of Spanish letters,› the lecturer declared. ‹Because the former drinks from profane sources, and our Lope from the deepest roots of our faith…›

As the other students passed notes and shuffled papers, Amelia raised her hand, polite, but determined.

‹Yes, miss?› said the professor.

Amelia spoke fast, the words firing out of her like a machine gun. ‹I’m sorry, but the influence of Orlando Furioso on Lope de Vega is obvious, especially in the theme of madness in relation to love.›

The professor dismissed this. ‹Nonsense.›

‹Characters like Rodomonte and Orlando himself are taken as a model for Lope. You can see it in works like—›

The professor cut her off, coldly. ‹Will you let me continue with the class?›

Amelia stopped and, after a moment, shrank back into her chair, though she did not lower her gaze.

‹The Golden Age demonstrates the glory of our literature,› continued the professor, again at lecturing volume and cadence, ‹represented in Calderón, Lope, or Cervantes’ grandiose Don Quixote. A literature at the height of what Spain was then: the first world power…›

A note made its way unexpectedly to Amelia’s hand. She unfolded the paper and read it silently:

Amelia, come out to the hallway: it’s urgent.

She lifted her head, and the door to the classroom closed just as she turned to look. Not unalarmed, she gathered her notes, got up and hurried out to the hall.

What she found waiting for her there took her by surprise: a thin, attractive woman of about forty years, with blonde hair and a gaudy-colored dress. She had her back to the door, and as Amelia entered, the woman turned towards her and smiled eagerly, as if she’d been looking forward to meeting her for a long time. Amelia stared for no more than an instant.

‹Pardon… who are you?›

‹Someone who knows just how important you are,› said the mysterious lady. She added, ‹Not like all those men.›

Amelia found herself blushing.

‹I’d like to get to know one of the first university women in the country,› she continued.

‹Are you a journalist?›

‹Something like that,› said the woman. She reined in her smile. ‹Tell me, what did your mother say when you said you wanted to study here?›

‹She said I’d lost my mind,› said Amelia. ‹She doesn’t think women have any use for an education.›

‹And your friends?›

‹More or less the same. With them you can only talk about husbands, children, and the fashions of Paris. It’s hard to find a woman who you can talk to about art, politics, or important things.›

‹Well, times are changing, aren’t they?›

Amelia opened up like a book. ‹Sometimes I think that women are our own worst enemies. But that has to change. I’m convinced that in some future, women will be able to do the same as any man.›

‹So am I.›

The mysterious woman removed a flask from the small purse she clutched. She unscrewed the cap and said, ‹Shall we drink to that?›

She took a big gulp and offered the flask to Amelia, who took it, with a more timid sip.

‹If my mother heard us…› Amelia began. She shook her head. ‹She’s committed to finding me a husband… so that I marry and have children.›

This particularly piqued the woman’s interest. ‹And you don’t want to…?›

‹I don’t need a man,› said Amelia proudly.

The woman looked at her for a moment.

‹You don’t know the joy that that gives me…›

She moved in fast— and suddenly her lips were on Amelia’s. Amelia, for her part, was not experiencing the joy. She went stiff as a stone. The woman noticed her apprehension, and stepped back.

Flustered, Amelia stuttered, ‹Need— I don’t need men… but the case is I do like them.›

The woman looked at her and sighed.

‹Oh well.› She picked up her little purse. ‹Let’s see if this interests you more…›

She opened the bag again, and this time removed a wholly unfamiliar artifact. A black rectangle of glass, smooth and rounded at the edges, out of which colored light and soft, strange sounds emanated in response to the woman’s touch.

‹That… what is it?› asked Amelia.

The journalist who was not really a journalist pressed the strange shiny thing to her own ear. ‹Your world is too small for you, my dear— and that we can fix.› Turning away, she said to no one Amelia could see, ‹Angustias? Pass me over to the boss, darling…›

Amelia’s eyes were wide to begin with. Now she wouldn’t shut them for anything in the world.

-

Madrid, 2015

It was a typical night at a typical neighborhood bar. The local regulars drank their drinks, shot the breeze, watched the game playing on the TV mounted to the wall. On the wall behind the counter hung a scarf branded Atleti, for one of Madrid’s many soccer clubs, and a poster of Koke, one of its many famous players.

At a table, two paramedics in their yellow SAMUR uniforms dined on snacks and beer, attempting to wind down as the end of their shift approached. One of them was Julián. Only in his early thirties, he nevertheless had deep lines etched in his face and, tonight as on most nights, very little appetite. The other was Ramón. He was a little older, a lot heavier, and where Julián had short but poofy curls and a five-o-clock shadow, Ramón had a metalhead’s long greasy locks and well-kempt beard. While Julián stared into space, hardly having touched his little dish of nuts, Ramón picked at his tortilla de patata with the contempt of a hungry man confronted with food that is just not good.

‹Tortilla de patatas is like the IBEX-35 of a bar,› declared Ramón, referencing an index of the Madrid Stock Exchange. ‹If the tortilla is good, the bar is good.›

Julián didn’t answer.

‹And this tortilla is a disgrace.›

‹Everything was better before,› Julián said nostalgically.

‹Why are you so committed to coming here?›

Before Julián could make any unenthusiastic response, the radio transmitter they had rested on the table crackled to life: ‹Fire downtown,› said the staticky voice. ‹It’s a hostel.›

Julián got up automatically. ‹Let’s go.›

Ramón, still seated, started to protest. ‹Julián, for fuck’s sake, our shift is over in ten minutes and we’ve just been drinking!›

But Julián was already outside. With another curse, Ramón grabbed a handful of tortilla and grudgingly followed Julián out the door.

Downtown, the lights of sirens and the flames in the burning building colored the light of the night. By the time Julián and Ramón arrived in their ambulance, a fire truck and another ambulance had already been parked in front of the hostel. One firefighter, covered in ash, was being treated by a paramedic with an oxygen mask on the sidewalk.

Nearby, the light of the fire illuminating his face, was Ramón and Julián’s supervisor, talking to another firefighter in front of the building. Ramón approached them. ‹Jefe, how is it?› he asked his boss.

‹Not as bad as it seems,› he replied, with the attitude of having done most of his job already. ‹Inhalation of smoke, some attacks of nerves…›

As they talked, Julián looked up at the building, which was nearly completely engulfed in flame. Behind a window on the second floor, there were two figures. 

Their characteristics were obscured by the smoke but Julián could see their silhouettes clear as day. ‹There’s still somebody inside!› he shouted.

‹Impossible,› said the firefighter. ‹Everyone has been evacuated. We’ve searched top to bottom.›

Julián pointed to the window, and the three other men looked up. But by then, the silhouettes were gone.

Nobody else was making any move to go into the building. Julián realized that if he was going to help those people in the window, he would have to do it on his own. He saw a firefighter’s smoke protection mask on the ground, grabbed it, and ran towards the building. His companions became alarmed. The firefighter yelled after him, ‹It’s about to cave in!›

But Julián didn’t turn back.

With the mask on his face, Julián entered the burning building and made for the stairs. At the top, he turned the corner into the room he saw through the window. Through the sooty mask he could see that the whole room was on fire and could collapse at any minute. Quickly his eyes searched for people in need of help. Then he saw, lying on the floor, two men— strangely, both were dressed like Napoleonic soldiers.

‹Here! I’ve found them!› Julián yelled. He went to try and revive them, but when he checked for a pulse, he couldn’t find one. He heard footsteps, and realized that someone else had entered the room. Thinking it was his partner, he yelled again. ‹Quickly! There’s no pulse!›

When he turned around, however, he saw that the new arrivals were not firefighters or SAMUR, but two other men, one uniformed like the men on the floor, and the other in civilian clothes of the same era. They stared at him, motionless, for a moment. Then there was a great cracking noise, and the three conscious men looked up. The ceiling had broken. The last thing Julián saw was the wooden beams heading right for his face.

-

For the next full day, Julián lay sedated in a hospital bed, coming in and out of consciousness. When he opened and closed his eyes, hours would pass before they opened again. Barely he perceived fragments of what was happening around him.

Open. A nurse is doing something Julián doesn’t get to observe. Close.

Open. Ramón, with he and Julián's supervisor, is at the foot of the bed. They talk in low voices.

‹This can’t go on, chief… Sooner or later something was going to happen. Nobody wants to work with him, he’s a danger, to others and to himself.›

The boss snorts.

‹After what happened with his wife…› says Ramón, ‹he’s not the same.›

‹Who would be?› The supervisor looks down at Julián. ‹Some shit luck you’ve had, kid…›

Close.

Open. Two strangers, dressed formally— a man in a suit and tie, and a woman in a blazer and skirt— are in the room. The man, next to the door, is reviewing a hospital clipboard, Julián’s medical history. The woman, seated by the bed, is looking at Julián.

Close.

-

The next day, Julián was fully awake, and the doctor told him he was free to go. Midday light entered through the window of the hospital room as Julián, now on his feet and dressed, prepared his bag to go home. He went over to the window to open it, but found that he couldn’t. It was locked.

‹Don’t bother. It won’t open.›

Julián turned around and saw his supervisor had entered the room.

‹Doctor’s orders,› said the boss.

Julián smiled. ‹They think I’m going to jump, or what?›

‹We’ve received a complaint from the Fire Department.› The supervisor was dead serious. ‹Many of their men risked their lives because you disobeyed an order from the firefighter in charge of the operation.›

‹There were people inside!›

‹There was only you, Julián,› said the boss.

He paused, to make sure Julián understood this point. Julián’s heart rate started to rise.

‹This isn’t the first time,› his supervisor continued. ‹Your colleagues say that working with you is like working with a suicide terrorist.›

‹But I know what I saw!›

‹You are out of service until further notice,› the boss said gravely. ‹You need to talk to a specialist…›

Julián sat down on the bed, crushed. The boss came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

‹Think of it as a vacation…› he said, more gently. ‹Didn’t you used to do photography? Do that.›

As his supervisor left the room, Julián replied under his breath.

‹Not anymore.›

[fantasyinvader]

Went to the pawn shop to see if they had the second Sharpe book, they did not but they did have two sets of the TV series on DVD. So I ended up with the first six episodes…the earliest of which is an adaptation of book 6. I think I can still go ahead and watch it, considering I watched the old Hornblower movie with Gregory Peck and am only now reading the books it’s based off of.

Side note: As I’m done the Hornblower prequels, Mr. Midshipman through Atropos, I’m now reading the first stories published…with stuff the author retconned in the prequels. Hornblower mentions being in the navy for 20 years, which would place the book in 1814, as he Mr. Midshipman started in 1794. The previous book started in 1804. But this is really supposed to take place in 1808, and supposed to start a few months after the end of the previous book. See what I’m mean?

Anyway, while I was at the pawn shop I picked up InFamous 1 and 2. I loved the first game when it came out, rushing to that same pawn shop back then when they got a copy shortly after release and I just didn’t wait for the sequel. Death Battle reminded me of this. So it was either spend $10 each and play on my Ps3, or bite the bullet and buy a PS Plus 3 Month pass which would still be more and put me on a time limit to finish both games. I want to go through it again, good paths both games since those are canon. And who knows, maybe I’ll even end up checking out Second Son afterwards.

Save data says I last played in 2010. Wow. It has been a long time.

[kissryuwuji]

krew with phones

did i write this at 3am 2 months ago and never looked at it again? maybe.

Korra has an android, most likely a Sumsang Galazy uhhhh smth idk i don’t keep up with phones. It’s not the one with the pen tho, it’s probably an older generation one bc if she had a latest model she would have too much power (no she wouldn’t)

like if this was in canon, she probably got it at the end of s1. Like imagine aang’s spirit going up to her and being like korra,,,,,,,, here’s a sumsand galazy bc u can’t navigate the city at all,,,,,,,,

anyway she has no idea how to use it but she catches on pretty quick how to text. Makes a lot of typos. Abuses the emojis. She likes the arm, hands, shrug, sports ones.

is appalled by how different the iphone emojis are from android

The type to backspace all the way to the first typo she made instead of tapping it or holding the word or whatever. And then she forgets what she typed and it strays from what she originally had.

Didn’t know the front camera existed. She’s like, whaT!? I’ve been staring at the dark screen to pick food out of my teeth! So now that’s what she uses it for.

Asami has the latest model of iPhone that has the home button bc she actually likes it

she probably has other iphone models just to tinker with them.

I bet by the time iphone releases their next model, she’s already made her own that has more space, better cam quality, faster speed, more durable screen, etc. than their model and the home button is still there.

Does not use emojis very often, and if she does it’s the thinking face with the hand on the chin 🤔 when she’s talking to Korra or Bolin

Also has a work phone, but it’s filled with a lot more stuff than her personal phone

that OR she has a sumsang note or whatever has the pen bc she likes that feature when she's commuting and she can doodle or draw over blueprints

does not put a period at the end of her sentences

Mako has kept the same flip phone for the past 3 years even though it’s all scratched up. He texts slowly bc abc2 def3 ghi4

responds late bc the sound is broken and the vibration thing got weaker

uses a lot of acronyms. Probably makes up his own too, like chl (coming home late) or wduw4d (what do u want for dinner, because the u is the second press and y is the third press).

Don’t expect emojis or emoticons bc he has a character limit. When someone sends him a text with an emoji, it either fails receiving it or it just pops up as the diamond with a question mark in it

If his flip phone allows group messaging, the messages always come individually instead of altogether.

So when he reads one from bolin, he has to go back to the folder, press up, click, read korra’s LOL with a bunch of emojis (he Cannot see the emojis), then repeat.

He can’t message them all at once, so he just sends whatever he has to say to bolin so on bolin’s end there’s just a long line of mako’s messages pertaining to the group chat that he has to relay to the group. But by the time he does that, the group already moved on to whatever else. When he has smth to say, it’s frustrating, but otherwise he wouldn’t mind doing this when he's on break or is bored

If he decides to upgrade his phone (most likely because the others pitched in and got it for him), he gets the blackberry phone with the rolling cursor and he likes playing the ball and brick game on his breaks.

He says he doesn’t miss whipping his phone out and opening and closing it because really it was such a hassle to do but it has sentimental value for being his first phone and it’s kind of muscle memory for him to flick his phone open when he pulls out his blackberry.

Bolin has an LG smart phone (idk what gen) bc he’s the younger sibling.

he abuses the camera and runs out of space and has to constantly delete apps and pictures and videos.

The earliest video he has is probably a probending match so he could rewatch it and learn strategies (not really he just wanted to capture toza’s match)

it's a super shaky video. no you can't zoom in.

his first picture is a blurred sidewalk and his first selfie is probably blurry too because he didn’t know the thing needed time to capture the image or wtv and he got excited and tried it with mako afterwards.

His second selfie with mako was probably two months after he got his phone because he found out you can change the default background so he takes one with mako and mako hasn’t smiled for a picture since he was 8 probably so he kinda just does what FEELS like a smile but it comes out like a straight line. 

The camera is not the greatest but bolin probably enjoys how pixel-y it looks until he gets a glimpse at asami’s photo qualities.

Bolin uses the 🤪🤩😬🤯 the most, but also always matches the food emoji to whatever he's currently eating.

Korra's camera roll consists of screenshots she intends to look at later and sometimes theyre of her teeth when she accidentally takes a picture while picking the food out

Asamis personal camera roll starts off with pictures of places shes been to and slowly fills up with candid pictures of her friends. No one ever noticed she snuck a picture of them until she makes a scrapbook

[dmsden]

Campaign Basics: A Year in the Life

and

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Well, we’ve put together a whole lot of info for our Angel of Chaos campaign, and I want to start developing some structure. Before I do that, however, I have to create a tool that I find incredibly helpful for any D&D campaign. I need a calendar.

In our own world, humankind has been developing calendars for over 10,000 years. Our earliest efforts were often tied to the moon, as its regular movements were easily tracked and measured, even by ancient peoples. Even the current calendar we possess is over 400 years old, and it’s based on other calendars that are far older. It’s not strange to imagine, then, that a world with people who lives hundreds of years, like elves, or thousands of years, like dragons, people would have been tracking time.

I personally recommend that, even if you decide to have a year that lasts longer or shorter than our own 365 days (and I don’t see any problem with doing that), that you keep concepts like day, month, and year. Doing so gives your players a familiar and firm footing that will allow them to accept any changes that you might make. For example, in my campaign, a week lasts seven days, based on the phases of the smaller moon, Davron. A month lasts 28 days, based on the movements of Kassyle, the larger moon. There are 13 monthsvthat trace the passing of the seasons, giving a total of 364 days in a year. My world does not possess leap years. It does, however, have certain days when both moons are full, one is full and the other is new, and both moons are new. All of these days are significant in my campaign world. For example, both moons are new on the first day of the year, and people consider that day sacred to Oldorin, the God of Death. Both moons are full on a day called Highsummer, which is holy to Shandalene, the Goddess of Life.

A great tool for developing your calendar can be found at https://donjon.bin.sh/fantasy/calendar/  You can use this excellent tool to track days of your campaign, and it’ll even track lunar phases for you and give you ideas for astrological phenomenon. I print it out and add notes that I generate with the also excellent weather generator at https://donjon.bin.sh/d20/weather/  That way, when describing a day, I can talk about what day it is, what the weather’s like, the phase of the moons, etc.

So why do you want a calendar? Well, there are numerous reasons.

Firstly, a calendar builds a sense of realism in your campaign. It promotes that little something called verisimilitude that DMs like myself covet. By having time go by, the seasons change, etc., you create the illusion that the world your adventures take place in is a real one.

Second, a calendar is helpful for tracking a lot of data. An NPC armorer tells the PC paladin that the full plate they commissioned will be done in 13 days. If the captives the PCs are trying to rescue are going to be sacrificed is on the new moon 3 days hence, the paladin’s player knows that they’re going to have to settle for wearing their scalemail for now and come back for the platemail afterwards. Even something like tracking the PCs’ birth dates can be fun for them, as you can use it to note how time is passing.

Thirdly, there’s no point in developing a timeline of events for when things are happening in your campaign world without a way of tracking where the PCs exist in time by comparison to those events. In my current campaign, for example, the Tarrasque is rampaging across the countryside. I’ve made a timeline of when it will strike various locations, and the PCs are racing against time to collect the items they need to defeat it. If they take too long, they know there will be dire consequences, and that has turned up the pressure in the campaign as we roller coaster towards the conclusion.

For purposes of the Beyond the Borderlands/Angel of Chaos campaign, I think I’m going to go with a very basic calendar, based completely on Earth’s. Maybe the concept of a week isn’t something the inhabitants of the Realm deal with, but they get the idea of a month. Again, I’m going to say 13 months of 28 days each, based on the phases of the moon. I’m going to give them names that an agrarian society might bestow upon them: Deeprain, Planting, Highsun, Fireborn, Smokewatch, Sunwane, Harvesting, Treeblaze, Coldsnap, Snowfall, Deepnight, Frostchain, and Melting.

Now that I have a calendar, I can begin marking things like festivals and events on it, but that will be an article for next time.

[victory-red]

why tōya being the oldest todoroki sibling makes no (or very little) sense.

Warning: Manga spoilers. Long post ahead - big paragraphs, lots of reading, and at least one (1) rabbit trail.

So I know this is old news, but I’ve been meaning to make a post about it for a little while now. I know a lot of people already headcanoned that Tōya was the oldest Todoroki sibling even before it was officially confirmed, but it just never really made sense to me, particularly in regard to Enji’s timeline. And then, after Chapter 291 came out, it made even less sense.

(A couple of quick disclaimers, before I continue: I’m not trying to pass anything off as fact. My conclusions are simply opinions based on observations I’ve made. I’ll also note that there are definitely gaps in what information we do officially have, so there is still a chance that what seems to me like a fairly significant plothole will eventually be explained.)

I’ll start with Enji - more specifically, his current confirmed age in relation to Fuyumi’s, who is the oldest Todoroki sibling whose age we do officially know. As of the current manga arc, Enji is 46 years old, and Fuyumi is 23. Since Enji’s birthday is in early August and Fuyumi’s in early December, that means that Enji was a little over 23 years old when he and Rei had Fuyumi.

From what we know of Enji’s history and personality, that seems like a reasonable age for him to have started having kids. He said in Ch. 165 that he became Number Two at age 20, at which point he immediately realized that he wasn’t ever going to be able to surpass All Might on his own. He said that it was because of this realization that he passed the torch (no pun intended) to Shōto. But, Shōto wouldn’t be born until a decade later. So, it makes sense to me that this would be the point that Enji decided it would be best to instead try having a child that could surpass All Might. In other words, it makes sense that this would be the catalyst that led to Shōto’s birth.

The most recent information we got regarding Enji and Rei’s relationship in Ch. 291 seems to be just a bit conflicting with how Shōto had described things back in Ch. 31 - unlike Shōto’s account, Ch. 291 sort of implied that Enji did care for Rei to some capacity, at least early in their marriage. (How he’s been portrayed in flashbacks recently is actually very conflicting with flashbacks from earlier chapters, and even with his entire personality in earlier chapters. But I won’t get into that - we’ll just make the assumption that Shōto’s story was biased, because it probably was.)

Since he essentially bought Rei’s family off, it only makes sense that he would have to grow to care for her over a period of time - you know, maybe like a year or two. I’m not sure how long the entire Quirk Marriage process took, but factoring in the 9 or so months Rei had to carry Fuyumi before she was born, it makes sense that after Enji’s realization upon attaining the Number Two title, the entire process of creating the plan of having hyper-powerful children, finding a suitable partner, buying her family off, marrying her, and having their first child would take anywhere between two to three years. That would mean that he was 20 when the process started, 22 when Rei got pregnant, and 23 when Fuyumi was born. Boom.

(Frankly, even that timeframe seems a bit compressed to me, but since Enji’s and Fuyumi’s ages are both canonically set in stone, I have no choice but to work with it.)

Tōya canonically being older than Fuyumi begins to screw a lot with the timeline - especially taking into consideration what the implied age gap between them is. I unfortunately can’t find where (or if) this is explicitly stated in the manga, but the wiki says that most Quirks develop around the age of 4. Now, it’s entirely possible that Tōya was born with his Quirk, but given Rei’s constitution, I highly suspect that there would have been severe complications with both her pregnancy and Tōya’s birth. It also makes sense that if he had developed his Quirk at an exceptionally young age, there would have been some note made of it. But since neither of those things are mentioned to have happened, we’ll just assume he was between 3 and 4½ years old when his Quirk manifested.

I don’t know how long afterward it took for Enji and Rei to decide to have another baby, but I can’t imagine that the decision took any longer than several months. I’ll be conservative and say that they decided no longer than a few months after Tōya’s Quirk developed, because remember - Enji literally, canonically cannot be any older than 23 when Fuyumi was born. Jumping 9 months forward from that time, Tōya would most likely have been between 4 and 5 years old when Fuyumi was born.

Now I will note that in the top panel, Tōya looks to me to be between 4 and 6 years old, which was presented as being before Fuyumi’s birth. But in the lower one, where he’s crawling over to look at baby Fuyumi (or at least I think that’s what’s happening? It’s a bit dark to tell for certain), he looks a lot younger - in fact, he doesn’t even look to have the white streak in his hair yet. But given how it’s explained that Enji and Rei even came to the decision to have Fuyumi at all, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense contextually. But, I’ll let it be and just assume that the manga didn’t present those panels chronologically. It could also be the zoomed-out view that makes Tōya seem smaller. Either way, I’m overanalyzing, and that’s sort of off-topic, anyway.

Okay, I think that’s all the setup I need to finally get to the meat of my argument, which I will start with this: If Tōya is anywhere between 4 and 5 years older than Fuyumi, that means that Enji was anywhere between 18 and 19 years old when Tōya was born.

In any other situation, that might make sense, but here’s the thing: it’s already been established, or at least very heavily implied, that Enji didn’t even consider the possibility of having children to surpass All Might until he attained his Number Two status, which as I’ve already mentioned happened when he was 20. Even if Tōya was only 3 years older than Fuyumi, which doesn’t make much sense because he would then have had to develop his Quirk at age 2 or younger, that still would mean that he was conceived before Enji even became Number Two.

If that doesn’t make sense to you, think of it this way: If Enji was between 18 and 20 years old when Tōya was born, that would mean that Tōya would have been conceived when Enji was 17 at the youngest - still a student, unless he graduated early. Regardless, that also implies he would have had to create his elaborate plan to beat All Might, as well as find and marry Rei, before he even graduated secondary school. Given what information we have from canon, that just does not make any semblance of sense.

As compelling that argument alone may or may not be, there are others to support it as well. Let’s consider what that implies for the age gaps between Tōya and the other Todoroki siblings. If he’s 3-5 years older than Fuyumi, that means he’s roughly 7-9 years older than Natsuo and 10-12 years older than Shōto. That would mean, if Shōto were between 5 and 6 years old in the following panels, Tōya would be anywhere between 15 and 18 years old. Fuyumi would be between 10 and 13, and Natsuo would be between 8 and 11.

While I understand that Tōya inherited Rei’s slight constitution, puberty usually begins for boys around 12 or 13 years old (although to my understanding it often starts later in Asian boys), so Tōya would likely have already begun to go through his growth spurt by this age. Even assuming that Natsuo had started going through his own growth spurt, Tōya still has 7-9 years on him - so the chances that Natsuo had this much height and mass on him are pretty slim. I might be able to buy Tōya being 15 years old in those panels, but I find even that a bit of a stretch.

And finally, let’s talk about how old Tōya was when he “died.”

Assuming that the second panel is the most recent (halfway decent) photo the Todorokis have of Tōya before his “death,” I’m inclined to agree with the people who have pointed out that his clothes resembled a junior high school uniform, similar to what Midoriya and Bakugō were seen wearing in the story’s earliest chapters and episodes. Junior high school in Japan is attended by students between the ages of 12 and 15, roughly - so it’s safe to assume that Tōya was no older than 15 years old when he “died.” However, I will note that given how Horikoshi draws most of the 15-year-old male characters in the story, he does look younger than that to me. I am keeping in mind that Tōya was mentioned to have had a slight build - even as Dabi, he still does - so there is the possibility that my conclusions there aren’t accurate.

If Tōya was 12 when he “died,” Shōto would probably not have any memories of him at all - at the time of his “death,” he would have been anywhere between 2 years old and a newborn. It’s implied in the manga and the anime that Tōya disappeared sometime after Rei burned Shōto’s face, which undoubtedly happened after Enji had begun to train him - so, likely well after he had turned 5. In the somewhat unlikely event that his face was burned while he was still 5 years old, Tōya would have been between 15 and 18 years old, as mentioned above. If it had happened when Shōto was 7, he would have been between 17 and 20, and so on. Going with the junior high school uniform theory, which honestly seems rather plausible, he essentially cannot have “died” after age 15 - so, more than likely, he would have been gone before Shōto even began his training. Obviously, this is disproven by the soccer panel in Ch. 39.

Honestly, I don’t know how else to say it - no matter how I angle it, it just does not make sense to me, canonically, that Tōya is the eldest Todoroki sibling. There’s a lot of information stacked up against it, and though I’ve mulled over it for a bit now, I can’t actually think of a scenario in which it actually is a logical conclusion.

TL;DR: Tōya being the oldest Todoroki doesn’t make sense in light of information we have regarding Enji’s timeline as well as previous images we’ve seen in the manga and anime.

[365days365movies]

January 22, 2021: Drive (2011)

I’m late!

Both to posting this review, and to the party. In terms of posting this review, it’s still today! So that’s good; haven’t missed a day yet! As for being late to the party, well...let’s talk about cars in movies.

Well, OK, let’s talk about transportation in movies. One of the earliest known films shown publicly was 1896’s L’arrivee d’un train en gare be La Ciotat, a film by the Lumiere Brothers with a legendary (possibly mythical) reputation. The 50-second movie features a train pulling into a station, directly towards the screen. Legend says that the moviegoers jumped out of their seats, out of the way of the oncoming train, due to their unfamiliarity with the new technology of film. Is this true? Eh. Maybe, maybe not; sorry, Hugo.

But transportation and film are closely related, is my point. 1903’s The Great Train Robbery, 1926’s The General, 1955’s Rebel Without a Cause, 1964’s Goldfinger, up until 1968’s Bullitt, which gave us this.

The classic car chase showcased in Bullitt began a new feature of the action genre: the car chase. And, no, it’s obviously not the first car chase seen in a film shot, by a country MILE. But it is arguably the first of its type, with bold maneuvers memorably showcased throughout. After this, the car chase film would eventually become more predominant. These are films in which the action takes place predominantly through car stunts and competitive driving. And I’m looking at three this month: one that’s critically acclaimed, one that’s a franchise-launcher, and one that’s...complicated. BUT FIRST

I vividly remember when this movie came out. This movie made a huge splash, which is why I say that I’m late to the party on this one. It really was the John Wick of its day, although that would happen 3 years later. So, rather than navel-gaze, it’s about time I saw this movie! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

The Driver (Ryan Gosling) is taking up a job. He picks up a pair of bank robbers, while listening intently to the police scanners and keeping track of his police pursuers. After some masterful driving, he escapes into a crowd of sports fans in a crowded stadium garage, leaving the car and the men to fend for themselves. Roll opening credits!

After work, the Driver returns home...then goes right to work, as a film stunt driver working for Shannon (Bryan Cranston), his manager, and owner of an auto shop. He also gets close to his new neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan) and her son, Benicio. He helps them with groceries, then heads to work, this time at Shannon’s garage.

Meanwhile, Shannon’s meeting with a local mobster, Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks), asking him for $430,000. His partner, Nino (Ron Perlman), comes in, fully packing an attitude and bad prior relationship with Shannon.

We next see the Driver driving a race car, presumably another of his many driving-themed jobs. A deal for $300,000 is made between Shannon and Rose for an unspecified job. Afterwards, the Driver is working as a mechanic at Shannon’s shop, where worlds collide as Irene and her son go there to get her car fixed. Afterwards, they end up going out together on a fun day out, strengthening their bond. Another date is made for the weekend.

Rose and Nino go to the garage, where we find out that the job is for a race, with the Driver...driving. We also find out about Rose, Nino, and Shannon’s prior relationships; Rose was once a film producer, and Shannon provided the cars for the stunts, overcharging him. Did the same to Nino, a gangster. That is why Shannon now walks with a prominent limp. Because he’s never been very lucky, Shannon has a lot riding on this upcoming race.

The Driver and Irene, who’ve been getting much closer, go on a date that evening. However, this is short-lived, as her husband is returning from jail in a week. It puts the rest of the evening in a somber tone, and we cut to a week later. Irene’s husband, Standard Gabriel (Oscar Isaac) has returned home to a party, while a solitary Driver is repairing a car part in his apartment, alone. He leaves, and sees Irene outside, clearly unhappy at current events. This is followed by a tense interaction between Standard and the Driver.

This leads to two things. First, the Driver gets a drink at a bar, to get over the lost relationship. He meets a guy there who offers him a job, and bitterly turns him down. When he returns to the apartments, he sees the second result: Standard’s been beaten to a bloody pulp by someone. Alive, but clearly hurting, Benicio is with him. The Driver helps Benicio first, then eventually helps out Standard as well.

Not that Standard’s particularly appreciate of this, mind you. Turns out that Standard owes protection money to a group of gangsters, and has been “asked” to rob a local pawn shop. They’ve also threatened Irene and Benicio, which naturally is of concern to the Driver. Benicio is scared, having witnessed this, and was also given a bullet by one of the men, as a warning to Standard.

The Driver goes to see Irene at her job, where he intonates what’s happened to Standard, and shows concern. However, he’s lied to Irene about the cause for the assault, leaving her in the dark about the danger that they’re in. Still, she invites Driver to dinner, to which he accepts. It’s awkward, unsurprisingly.

Back to the Driver alone, who apparently steals a car? Not sure, but that’s the implication. For Benicio and Irene, the Driver offers to help Standard, and makes a deal with Cook (James Biberi), the gangster to whom he owes money. Together with his partner, Blanche (Christina Hendricks), the job commences.

They get to the shop, and Blanche and Standard go in...but only Blanche leaves. As Standard comes out, he gets shot multiple times, killing him. The Driver, of course, takes off like a shot, but is pursued by another car in a high speed chase. He turns around and drives BACKWARDS down a stretch of highway, eventually throwing the pursuer off the road.

With Blanche, he hides out in a motel, where the initial goal of $40,000 is revealed to be far, FAR exceeded. It’s also revealed that the pawnshop owner claims that Standard acted alone, and that no money was stolen. Which is the first major indicator that something is very, VERY wrong here. And it seems like Blanche is a part of a wider conspiracy here. And the Driver is NOT happy about it.

Cook indeed set them up, planning to rip off the Driver and Standard. Blanche knew about the second car, but was unaware of the plan to kill Standard, or the large amount of money to be retrieved. So she says, anyway. I personally find that pretty hard to believe. And so does the Driver, as someone attempts to enter the motel. And, uh…

HOOOOOOO THAT IS A GRAPHIC HEADSHOT! Yeah, Blanche is FUCKED, as two armed men forcefully enter the motel room, and BOTH get killed by the Driver. What in the hell has he gotten himself into?

Somewhat injured, the Driver takes the cash and goes to Shannon’s to get sewn up. Shannon definitely seems enamored with the prospect of so much cash in the wind, but still promises that he’ll try to find out more about Cook. But the Driver doesn’t appear too willing to wait for that, as he finds the gangster behind the scenes of a strip club, and just DESTROYS his hand with a HAMMER.

Threatening to pound Benicio’s bullet into his head with the hammer, he asks whose money that ACTUALLY was, as it couldn’t have been the pawn shop’s. Turns out that, YUP, it’s NINO’S MONEY! Shit. He has someone call Nino, as he holds Cook underfoot. On the phone, he offers back the money, free of charge. Nino, unaware that this is the Driver about to race for Rose, tells his men to find out who he is.

The Driver returns home, where he tells Irene exactly what was going on with Standard. He reveals the debt, as well as his offer to help, and offers the money to her and Benicio. She’s understandably not happy. During this conversation, one of Nino’s men shows up in the elevator, as Irene and the Driver are going into it. Realizing what’s about to happen, the Driver pushes Irene aside and gives her a VERY passionately framed kiss. But what happens next...is less romantic.

The Driver has just brutally murdered this man, and I MEAN brutally. The elevator doors close between a horrified Irene and a seemingly ashamed Driver, possibly symbolizing their likely-permanent separation. But there’s a problem: how did Nino’s guy know where the Driver was?

Shannon. Stupid, STUPID Shannon told Rose, who told Nino, who told his men, who went to the apartment to kill the Driver, and probably Irene and Benicio. He confirms this to the Driver, who is RIGHTFULLY PISSED OFF. Shannon’s apologetic, having not actually realized that Nino was involved.

Nino and his men are going to be looking for the Driver now, as well as for Shannon. He tells Shannon to get out of town, and never come back. But now, the Driver’s killed one of Nino’s men as a result. But it’s even worse than that.

Turns out that the robbery was planned by Nino, and the money belonged to an East Coast mobster storing $1,000,000 in the pawnshop, secretly. So now, THEY’LL come looking for the money as well. Because of this, the only known ties to the robbery, the Driver and Shannon, have to be eliminated. Well, Cook’s also a tie, to be fair. Which is why Rose kills him IMMEDIATELY, and brutally.

The Driver, fresh out of the elevator, goes to his stuntman trailer to get a disguise. Shannon, on the other hand, is trying to escape Rose and Nino’s wrath. But unfortunately, Rose gets to him first. He tries to convince Shannon to tell him the location of the Driver, to no avail. Unfortunately, that means that Shannon’s of no use, as Rose kills him, efficiently and quickly.

The Driver finds his body, and now he has another death to avenge. He takes the money, and goes to Nino’s place, where he uses the stuntman’s disguise, and follows Nino out. And now...it’s revenge time. 

OHHHHHHH FUCK! He runs off the road, leaves them for a minute, then purposefully T-bones them! The car’s launched onto a beach, where Nino stumbles away, having survived. But not for long, as the Driver goes to kill him in the water. Afterwards, he calls Rose, and invokes the story about...the Scorpion and the Frog.

...Oh. OHHHH! HOLY SHIT, I GET IT!!!!

That’s why he wears the jacket! He’s a Scorpion! All of this killing, despite his better interest at this point, is in his nature! HA! That’s awesome! If you aren’t aware of the fable of the Scorpion and the Frog, it goes a little something...like this:

A Scorpion needs to get across a river, so he goes to a Frog. Frog’s like, “FUCK NO I look like I wanna die today? You’ll sting me as we’re going across” And the Scorpion says, “Yeah, sure, I sting you and I drown myself in the process, real smart idea on my part. C’mon, I’m not gonna sting you, just give me a ride, yeah?” Frog’s like, “OK, bet. I’ll take you across.” So Scorpion hops on Frog’s back, and they go across the river, and RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE, Scorpion stings Frog. “WHAT THE FUCK DID I SAY, GODDAMMIT,” says Frog, and Scorpion replies, “Sorry, man...it’s in my nature.” And then they both drown.

So, killing is actually the Driver’s nature. He’s always been the Scorpion, trying to hide from those abilities and tendencies. But once a threat comes along, the claws and telson come out, and it’s just STAB STAB CLAW CLAW STOMP STOMP SHOOT SHOOT from there. Cool!

Anyway, Rose agrees that things have gone too far, but also acknowledges that Irene is still aware of this situation, meaning she’s still at risk.  Subtly threatening her, Rose arranges a meeting place for the Driver to bring his sonMONEY! His sonny. I’ve been holding Finding Nemo jokes in this whole time, seriously. It’s Albert Brooks, he’s Marlin, the hell else am I gonna do?

They meet at a Chinese restaurant mentioned briefly early in the film. Rose offers the following deal: he takes the money, and Irene and Benicio are safe. The Driver, probably not, but at least she’d be safe. And he agrees...only her Rose to stab him as he gives him the money. The Driver stabs him back, killing him immediately. 

Not that the Driver’s doing much better. Stabbed in the stomach, he sits in the seat of the car, his seat. Still. He leaves the money in the parking lot...and he drives away. Irene knocks on his door, but there’s no answer. And the Driver...drives.

And that’s Drive. WOW. A lot to unpack with this one, but see you in the Epilogue for that!

[ahkaraii]

Belatedly answered ask responses

Thank you for anyone who has sent me stuff!! I LOVE reading them and I’m so sorry I’m awful at replying, but know that I love each and every one. Here’s my attempt to answer a whole lot :D

@doki-dream​ Thank you so much for enjoying my DBZ comics!! DBZ was my earliest “fandom”, as it were, from over twenty years ago, and it was so, so special to me as a wee child. I think it’s obvious how heavily I project onto Gohan, haha! But now that I’m an adult, it’s really fun to weave in all these ideas I had as a kiddo into a more seamless interpretation that works with the existing canon. I hope you continue to enjoy my interpretations  <3

@half-devil-in-red-leather​ Thank you so much for sticking around with me for so long!!  :D :D DMC still has a very dear place in my heart, and always will. As for Trunks and Gohan  -- they were my favourite characters, too!! Gohan moreso than Trunks in my case, but I’m awfully fond of all iterations of my purple-haired boy, and someday I’ll get around to drawing all of my Mirai!Trunks headcanons :) Trunks and Goten are fascinating to me as well, because they’re a Unit, yanno? In canon they were rarely seen without the other, and so their development as people is undoubtedly tied together, too. The differences between Mirai!Trunks and main-timeline!Trunks is FASCINATING, and speaks a lot to what are “core” characteristics of Trunks and what are things he’s adapted from his close peers over the years. Anyway, I love Trunks and Goten and Gotenks and rest assured I’ll be posting a lot more about them in the future.

@vejigante​ Unfortunately I still haven’t watched Dragon Ball Super beyond the two movies (Battle of Gods and Broly) so I’m preeetty much out of the loop as to who these guys are. Maybe someday :0

@katerchip​ :D :D :D =happy=

@yusuke96universe​ I don’t exactly take suggestions, mostly because I kinda draw whatever I feel like in any given moment, and drawing something based on someone else’s idea or suggestion is almost always stressful (”what if they don’t like my take” “what if I drew something they find gross” “what if what if what if” etc), but I can safely say I, uhhh, actually don’t know much about Tien??? I’ve skim read the original Dragon Ball manga, but I never watched the original Dragon Ball anime, so Tien is one of those side characters I don’t have a very good grasp on, or, frankly, much interest in. Maybe someday!

@shika-boom​ Fugaku and Shikaku were not friends, per say, but they were always peripherally aware of each other. They’re both clan heirs, for one, so you gotta know who’s who. Shikaku has always been a nosy nin who collects secrets, while Fugaku’s shameful secrets have always been painfully on display, so it’s not like they didn’t butt heads now and again growing up. I talk a little more about the topic here (x).

@darkblades75​ Thank you!! You can read the manga online here (x).

@hydrabellwolf​ Raditz is an interesting character I’m still getting a handle of, in my own interpretation, but I think he essentially has little to no attachment to his birth family and as a kid he probably thought Goku was pampered trash because Gine kept his pod at home. I don’t think Raditz ever made the connection that Gine sent Goku out to save him from the massacre, so I don’t think Raditz realized Gine “spared” Goku and didn’t think about him (Raditz).

Afterward, he only ever remembers Goku might still exist when he realizes he needs someone he can ally with against Nappa and Vegeta (after establishing he’s Alpha Dog, hence him stealing Gohan and talk-posturing at Goku instead of properly fighting from the start), so it’s not so much familial piety as it is convenience because he’s outnumbered and outgunned and outbullied by the only couple other Saiyan survivors.

@wardstoneus That’s a story for another day, and details I probably won’t get super into because I’ve learned my lesson about delving into unnecessarily dark themes in an ambiguously exploitative way. But, yeah, I have lots of Thoughts about Raditz’s distinctive hairline and how that looks more like Vegeta than it does Bardock, and how exactly that could’ve gone about.

It was not a consensual thing :/ Gine had a rough life, and not just because she was weak and also not very Saiyan like. Bardock married her to protect her after she was pregnant, and he got demoted to low class because of it. (That’s how I explain to myself how Bardock was apparently super fucking strong and yet inexplicably deemed low class).

@loyaltykask​ Tbh the only other Sakumo ship I find mildly interesting is Sakumo/Tsunade (you can kinda tell why I drew them together in the Five comic in the first place xDD), but, naturally, my take on Sakumo and the Sakumo that gets shipped with Orochimaru in fandom are very different characters with very different pasts that made them that way :’D So if I separate my take and just take fanon Sakumo as it is, there’s lots of interesting fics with him and Orochimaru and such. I don’t tend to read them though, because Orochomaru is never in character (as I interpret him, anyway), and that can be tiring XD

@pretty-rage-machine​ Thank you!!! I’m sorry (not sorry) that I jump around fandoms so much, my creative brain is stupid and it latches onto new things every 2-6 months without control and I’ve learned to just go with the flow, it allows me to create faster and better works if I let myself explore whatever topic has captured my interest at any given moment instead of forcing it to stick to one thing. Luckily, I am not a professional artist; if you are, don’t do this xDDD Maintaining discipline and motivation beyond personal whim is important in any job!!

That being said, yay!! I’m glad you like my stuff regardless of how much knowledge you have of the canon I’m messing with. Hearing my characterizations are grounded and relatable makes me happy <3<3

@poly-hebdo​ Thank you!!! :D :D Once again, I apologize for jumping fandoms like the attention deficit fella I am, but I’m glad you’re still digging my works regardless of the fandom!

@jkl-fff​ Ahh thank you, friend!! (Side note reply: I watched DBZ:A yeeears ago, and I have to rewatch it again STAT because I actually have gotten mentioned by MasakoX (voice of gohan and goku in DBZA) a couple of times now, once in one of his videos and twice on his twitter feed, so I’m like HOLY SHIIIIT!!!! because that’s some Senpai-Noticed-Me shit and eeeeeeek).

It may be obvious by now but I HEAVILY project onto Gohan, he was basically my mental self-insert as a wee lad, so my characterization of him is heavily tinged by that selfish nostalgia; part of the reason I’ve been drawing these comics is to seamlessly integrate that mental image of Gohan I have living in my brain to the actual existing canon, to make him a plausible version of Gohan that can exist between the pages. From that, a fascinating little narrative has been born and I’ve been having fun detailing out the characters that exist around the Gohan I’ve created :D Thank you for enjoying my hot take on it!!

And YES LAWD I am all for bisexual Gohan, he and Dende were totally a cute first romance thing as teenagers, though naturally it had to come to an end as they moved on with their lives -- Dende to proper ascetic Godhood, and Gohan to a more normal human highschool life. Maybe someday I’ll get into the nuanced complexities of that, though I probably won’t post it to twitter, where the audience there seems to crave more canon straight stuff than any wistful doomed gay sideplots (that seems more a Tumblr thing). Ahhhh so many ideas, so little time XDD

[merlivystories]

not over, never over (trixya)

Just a short fic about one particular friendship that overcomes the struggles of addiction created with help of my humble imagination and inspired by Trixie & Katya. Enjoy! xx

Trixie’s life has been pretty much the same for the past few months. He would go on tour, do shows, perform his music on stage, make instagram posts and tweet from time to time, receiving nothing but waves of admiration and love from the fans. His life has been the same, except for one piece missing. It felt like he had one piece of a puzzle gone and it’s absence spoiled the ability to fully enjoy the process since he wasn’t able to see the whole picture anymore. That would cause him to forget words to his own songs, cry in almost every dressing room in every city on the tour, constantly make spelling mistakes or leave out words on social media. The craving was slowly ruining him from the inside, sucking out his energy, keeping his mood down and his heart aching. That missing piece was, of course, one particular russian high-class whore - Katya, also known as his madly insane but utterly amazing best friend - Brian McCook. Or as Trixie was quite sure of lately, his former best friend.

No one ever said being close to Katya was a piece of cake, it was, actually, the opposite of that most of the times. The man was unstable, had an addictive personality and an endless amount of terrifying stories from his past he just had to share with Trixie. He could be loud one minute and then suddenly quiet the next one, he hardly ever allowed himself to talk about his real feelings, trying to disguise truth as jokes. But Trixie couldn’t help but loved him. They were naturally drawn to each other, sharing the same sense of humor and feeling comfortable while spending time together. Trixie often wondered if Katya could see all the things he loved him for, he was sure though, Katys was aware of all the things he loved him despite of. Their friendship was Trixie’s greatest strength and biggest weakness at the same time. People around them would say they were joined at the hip, and that has been absolutely true for a few years post season 7 of Drag Race. It was almost perfect, till it wasn’t anymore.

The first time Trixie learned about Katya’s multiplе addictions was when the two of them were working together with Pearl and Fame on one of the earliest episodes of RPDR. Trixie saw something small and round falling out of his pocket when he was pulling the jeans on. Katya followed his glance and hurried to pick it up, but Trixie knew for sure what that thing was. Sobriety chip. His mother’s boyfriend had a lot of those. 

- Alcohol? Drugs? - He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask, if the two of them were close enough to share real stuff, but he did anyways. 

- Both, actually. It’s been a year and a half. I’m better now. - Katya smiled at him weakly, shoving the chip back inside. 

- You know you can talk to me if you feel like it. Anytime, I’m there for you. - Trixie said in a serious tone. He caught Katya’s wandering gaze, trying his best to let the older queen know he wasn’t kidding, not this time. Katya just grabbed his palm and squeezed it in response. He knew and he appreciated that.

Afterwards they got closer and Trixie spent hours of his life listening to stories about Katya’s addictive past. He would listen to them over the phone, in a cafe while eating eggs with a salad on the side, while applying his makeup before the gig and in a dark alley filled with cigarette smoke he could barely stand after a gig, also in hotel rooms, on WOW Presents set, on buses and on airplanes. Simply put: he would listen to those stories everywhere. But he never got tired of it. On the contrary, Trixie was completely fascinated. Katya managed to make it all sound amusing, he has always been amazing at turning tragedy into comedy. However, from time to time Trixie looked at Katya’s face for a little too long and wondered how he’s still alive and breathing. This is what should be called the eighth wonder of the world. At first, right after the both of them just started working together post Drag Race, Trixie would catch himself being worried about Katya’s well-being and wondering whether he could take all the pressure without breaking down. But it has been a few years and Katya always rose up to every occasion, ready and totally able to entertain. And just as Trixie was about to let it go and finally breath out, everything exploded right in his face.

To be honest, it wasn’t that horrible. The older queen has seemed erratic and distant for a couple of weeks. Trixie tried to talk about it but got nothing more than irritated «I’m fine-fine, stop huffing around me, Tracy!» out of him. One day Katya just didn’t show up on the set of their «Trixie & Katya» tv-show and didn’t pick up his phone (Trixie called like fifty times, all in vain). On his way to the hotel where Katya was staying, he texted that he was going to come see him. And finally got a reply: «Don’t you dare coming over. I quit. I don’t want to see you ever again.» Trixie came over anyway, he has never been much of a listener. Katya was gone, checked out of his room a few hours ago. But he left a note on the reception: just a small piece of paper. It said «to Brian F» on one side and «Trixya is over!» on the other side. Well, maybe it was horrible.It definitely hurt like hell. Trixie felt confused, betrayed, disappointed and mad. As soon as he managed to pull himself together, he called Patricia, searching for any reasonable explanation: she told him Brian was using again, she said he came home a total mess, she apologized over and over, promised it was all going to get better after rehab and begged not to call quits on her son. Trixie had no intentions to do so. Katya wasn’t the enemy here, his addiction, on the other hand, was.

Since that moment the younger queen stepped back from the situation, put it all on pause. Their relationships, their dreams and his feelings as well. Katya stopped returning his calls for good. Trixie blamed it on addiction. Katya unfollowed him on every social media he could. Trixie blamed it on addiction. Katya’s first text to him after a long silence was about how much he hated him on the first episode of All Stars 3. Trixie blamed it on addiction. He heard rumors about Katya talking shit about their friendship behind his back. Trixie blamed it on addiction. Never blaming any of it on Katya. He kept shoving his feelings into the farthest, darkest corner of his soul the way Katya shoved that sobriety chip into the pocked of his jeans. Mostly, he could get by days just fine: not to take spelling mistakes, forgotten lyrics on stage and tearing up in dressing rooms into account. But not a single night was spent without missing his best friend, not being able to dial his number and just babble about his life, going on and on about the troubles, feeling “the weight of existing” being lifted off his shoulders slowly. He reminded himself constantly that the whole situation was way worse for Katya, that he is the one who should be strong and patient, that all of it (all of them) was going to be back one day. Could he say the last one for sure? Not at all. Making attempts at predicting things that depended on him only partially seemed stupid, but he simply couldn’t deny himself that whatsoever fleeting tranquility.

It’s been more than half of the year and Trixie’s heart started to heal. He knew no one could ever replace Katya, people don’t really get so lucky in life as to meet soulmates every few years. Nothing depended on him anyway, it was all about Katya fighting his demons and probably winning. Deep down Trixie knew he was going to be alright as long as his friend got to feel better. Thought it wasn’t easy to pretend like it didn’t bother him at all that his next show was in Boston, in a theater just an hour away from McCook’s family house. Nothing else mattered as long as he had the chance to put all his worries aside and do what he loved doing the most: dressing up and putting on makeup, creating a full country-Barbie fantasy and singing his own songs from the stage. How lucky he was to only spot two painfully familiar piercing blue eyes staring at him from the audience right before closing the show? Extremely lucky. Trixie didn’t trust his vision at first, but the truth was - Katya, out of drag, sitting in the audience, wearing skinny black jeans and a plain grey t-shirt, showing his arms all covered in newly done tattoos. Their eyes met and the younger queen felt himself being on the verge of heart-attack. Katya got up from his place, pointing backstage with a silent question in his eyes. Trixie nodded almost invisibly and rushed from the stage.

Just a couple of minutes after getting into his dressing room, Trixie heard knocking on the door. His heard was racing so fast it could totally fall out of his chest any second now. He turned the knob with a shaking hand, pulled it and there was Katya standing on the other side with a paper bag in his also shaking hand, visibly  sweating and looking extremely uncomfortable. 

- Can I come in, please? - Katya asked in a low voice. Trixie stepped to the back of the room, letting him in. - I brought you brownies. I figured you would be hungry after the show. - Trixie suppressed a smile. Mixed feelings were tearing him apart from the inside. It wasn’t right to be in that much pain and so relieved at the same time. Katya seemed normal, he seemed himself. But this fact didn’t erase all those months spent in darkness and total abandonment, without his best friend. He took the bag and thanked the older man. Katya came close to a mirror, looking at the younger queen standing behind him through it. Then there was silence, usually comfortable between the two of them, but this time it seemed unbearable. Trixie couldn’t help but wondered if things would ever be the same again, if the damage this falling out caused their friendship was irreversible or not. 

- I like your tattoos. - Trixie finally spoke up, carefully trying to defuse the situation. He caught Katya’s eyes in the reflection. The older queen was smiling.

- Thank you, Tracy. - Katya replied softly and turned around, facing Trixie and leaning on the dressing table with his legs crossed. - I’m glad you let me in here today. I would be even more glad if you agreed to hear me out. Can you grant me some of your time? - Trixie had never even once in his life heard Katya speaking in such way: calmly, steadily and confidently.

- Sure, I’m all years. - The younger queen nodded. He sat on the little white leather coach in the corner of the room and streached out his lean legs. He was still in drag and his feet were killing him from jumping around the stage in high-heals for the past couple of hours. Katya probably noticed the glimpse of discomfort on his face.

- Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have let you get out of drag first. So fucking inconsiderate of me. We can meet in the alley behind the theater in 30. Is that okay with you? - He looked genuinely worried and Trixie was secretly relieved to postpone this conversation, even for half an hour. Definitely wasn’t going to be an easy one.

- That would be great, thanks. - It came out a little cold. He didn’t aspire to sound this way, but it did. Katya retired immediately, leaving Trixie alone with his thoughts.

It exactly 28 minutes Trixie in his boy-clothes went out the back door and found himself in a pretty dark alley. Katya was standing under the only streetlight in sight, looking down intently and tracing lines with his right feet.

- Hey. - Trixie called out and the older guy lifted his head, smiling.

- How are you never late? - He asked, staring at the watch on his hand. Katya was that type of an “old person” that barely ever had his phone around, but this simple black-strap watch was literally glued to his wrist all the time he was out of drag.

- The same way you are always late! No logical way to explain this. - Katya wheezle-laughed and it hit Trixie how much he missed the sound of that awful, stupid, infectious and painfully familiar laughter.

- Well, I guess you can hear me out now. - Katya said quietly, not a trace of a smile on his face, when the younger queen came closer. Trixie nodded, feeling the heartbeat fastening. Come what may, he thought. - I came to talk to you today because I’ve been told I was ready. To be honest, it doesn’t feel like “ready” to me. - Katya shook his head and took a deep breath. He was staring at the ground intensively while Trixie was dying to look him in the eyes. - However, I believe I will never feel ready enough for this. I’m not good at sincere and emotional conversations, you know that better than anyone, Tracy. - Trixie could feel tears coming up, oh, how much he hated being this vulnerable in front of Katya in that moment. - I came to apologize, - the older man finally found a courage to look up and their eyes met, - there are not enough words in the world to express how sorry I am for hurting you, for ruining what we’ve had. I understand it’s bold of me to just show up out of the blue and expect you to forgive me instantaneously. - His voice was shaking and Trixie noticed the way he digged his nails into his own hip. - If I’m being completely honest, I can’t even promise you not to go nuts ever again. Most of the times I can control it, but sometimes those voices in my head get too loud and I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. Though I can ensure you, as long as I am myself, I will always consider you my best friend. So I kind of came here to ask you for something I knew I didn’t deserve at the first place. For you to be a part of my life again. - At that point, Trixie was dead-ass ugly crying, his cheeks all wet from tears and his nose running. The older man was crying, too. The way he somehow always managed to look beautiful when he cried happened to be an unsolved mystery. - I can’t promise you perfection, I won’t promise that. But I for sure will try my best to be a better person, a better friend to you, if you let me. - Katya reached out and stroked Trixie’s shoulder just once, obviously doubting whether it was a good idea to do so. - Also, nothing drag-related. I’m aware you can’t rely on me career-wise and with a lot of done work and money on stake, there’s no reason you should trust me again. I wrote it myself: Trixya is over. - He went silent and froze like a convict who has said his final words, waiting for the verdict of the judge. Trixie was overwhelmed with the emotions, struggling to speak back. So instead he grabbed the older man’s arm and pulled him into the embrace. Katya wrapped his both arms around the younger queen lightly, not quite sure about what exactly was going on.

- I don’t need perfection, - Trixie finally whispered, - I just need you. - Katya breathed out loudly into his shoulder, feeling relaxed and excited at the same time. - Also, - Trixie pulled back a little so he could see the older guy’s face, still holding his forearms in his hands, - Trixya is not over. We both know, it is never over. - Katya only smiled and nodded, not even trying to figure out anymore how he got so fucking lucky to call the guy in front of him a friend. 

[noctisfishing]

The Last One Wins | 03

01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Notes: This chapter is mainly why I’ve included the warning for minor Kizuna spoilers. And, not really a spoiler, but I made sure I got the name of Koushiro’s company correct in this. We have Kou/Izzy to thank for everything that happens in this chapter. <3

Hope you enjoy this one!

Chapter 3: The Admission of Defeat

It took a few weeks for Matt to get used to living in space. Even after a few years of intensive training, he found it interesting to get a grasp on the absence of gravity, and being used to being suspended midair.

Before taking off, Matt and his fellow crew members were surprised to find out that they would be the first group to test out video conferencing capabilities in the International Space Station. All five agencies, including JAXA and NASA, had been working with Izumi Corporation for implementation by the time the next crew arrived at the station. Matt wouldn't have thought that Izzy would reveal that it had been a top secret project even to him, but it was nice to chat with a friendly face occasionally while they were both on the job.

Matt had gotten along with the group of crew members with him, but he always looked forward to his weekly video calls with Sora. He had to hand it to Izzy - six months without being able to see the love of his life, and otherwise communicating minimally through email and video recordings would have been a very lonely time.

There was one particular call a few months in space that Matt had been both looking forward to and dreading at the same time.

It was always a joy for him to see Sora's eyes light up the moment her face appeared on screen and she realized he was looking at her on his side of the atmosphere.

"Hey, Sora," Matt said with a smile. He was dressed down to a casual cotton shirt and jeans since it was his day off.

"Well, if it isn't the 'space man'!" Tai said from the top corner of the screen.

"Matt?!" Mimi's face appeared. "Oh, look at you!"

"Hey, guys!" Matt replied as the whole gang of faces, including his brother, his friends, and their respective spouses, of which the female counterparts had enlarged bellies at various stages of their pregnancies. He had known that Yolei's baby had the earliest due date, thereby making Ken win the Takari Bet, but there had been other news that he had been waiting to tell everyone until that moment.

Izzy was there, too, giving a friendly wave, and even Joe had shown up; he usually made a rare appearance since he was so busy.

But Matt was amused at how Sora managed to convince every one of their friends to gather together this time around.

"Sora must've given you a convincing reason to show up today," Matt said with a chuckle.

"Why wouldn't we be here?" Davis chimed in, seeming to squeeze in between Tai and Izzy. "We wanted to talk to Mr. Cool Guy In Space!"

"It is pretty neat to see how normal it can look up there," Iori observed.

"Aside from that pen floating by his head," added Kari.

Matt looked to Sora who had been smiling but keeping her lips tight. He flashed a knowing smile.

"Sora, why don't you tell them what's really happening?"

"What?"

Every head turned to Sora, and her smile grew from ear to ear.

"Everyone," she began, after taking a deep breath. "I'm finally ready to tell you - I'm pregnant!"

The cheers erupted on Sora's end of the call. Mimi was the first to leap toward Sora to hug her. Matt laughed as he watched Tai, Davis, and TK cheering in excitement.

Matt was relieved that it was out in the open. He was the first to find out about a month into being in the International Space Station, when he and Sora cried with joy together over video chat. Seeing her glowing smile as she hugged all of her friends urged him to break into tears once again.

"I... guess I'm having... a kid last then...eh... Matt?" Tai said, putting his arm around Sora after they exchanged a hug.

Matt hoped that his glare pierced through Tai all the way from space. He knew that Tai's dragged out question was to emphasize his smug acknowledgment of achievement. Matt had known all along that he wasn't going to win the Takari Bet. He had already mentally accepted defeat; the only thing he dreaded was the moment that Tai discovered his inevitable victory.

Besides that, Sora still hadn't known about their competition, and Matt wasn't about to let Tai tell her about it now.

But Sora raised her brow as she looked at Tai's smirk.

"I wouldn't be surprised, given that you're a kid in a grown man's body," Sora replied.

Matt couldn't have been happier to see the change of Tai's expression.

"Hey, I got married, didn't I? That makes me a grown up."

"Yeah," said Matt. "She still married a kid."

"Matt's right," Tai's wife said in the background.

Sora and Matt began to laugh as Tai was at a loss on how to respond next. He and his own wife - he loved how they made a great team against Tai.

Their laughter was cut short, however, when they heard an odd groan from off camera.

"Whoa, honey, you alright?" Davis asked as he and the others turned to the direction where the sound came from. Sora and Tai disappeared and Davis followed quickly. TK appeared on camera next.

"TK, what's going on?" Matt asked.

But Davis' loud announcement answered for him: "We've gotta go. Her water just broke!"

Davis' words were of cheer, and Matt swore he heard some mischievous cackling. Although no one else said anything, Matt knew why. The due date for Davis' baby was set for after Yolei's baby. At that moment, Yolei screamed as she jumped up out of her chair.

"No!" she cried, and everyone fell silent as they looked at her. "...way!" she added.

"Don't start this now, Yolei," Matt heard Ken say as he grabbed her shoulders and walked toward the door where everyone else was headed. Ken had put his brave face on, knowing how this affected the Takari Bet. He also seemed to show a slight tinge of annoyance, but Matt could only empathize with the other man who also had to admit defeat.

Then Kari appeared on screen, and Sora popped in next to TK soon after. "Hey hon," Sora said. "Looks like the party's over. We're all heading to the hospital soon."

"Okay, then," said Matt. "Love you."

"Love you!" Sora said before disappearing again. "TK, turn off the camera?"

"Hai, Onee-san!" said TK.

"Aren't you both going, too?" Matt asked TK and Kari next to him, who grinned with giddiness.

"In a bit." TK then shared a glance with Kari before looking at the camera and lowering his voice. "Listen, when you get back, do you think you could spare some yen?"

Knowing this was referring to Ken's loss, Matt responded with, "You can make 5000 yen easily, TK."

"It's 25,000," Kari replied.

Matt grimaced. "That's still money you can make, but you really put that much money for your bets?"

"I bet the 5K on Ken being first.. And you know me and Kari, we go all in for our big bros."

Matt rolled his eyes as TK smiled with his tongue sticking out.

"Sora said to turn off the camera."

"You love me, right?"

"We'll talk later, TK. Bye, Kari."

Matt ignored the air smooches that TK and Kari scrunched their lips together side by side as Matt pushed to end the call.

~*~*~*~*~*~

About a month before Matt was set to return to Japan, Sora sent a message for him to get in touch with her as soon as he could. It had become the norm for them to have weekly video chats, so having a call in the middle of the week was out of the ordinary for him.

In fact, Matt was worried about why she wanted to talk to him so soon. He wondered if something went wrong back on Earth; maybe, if she found out some news about the baby.

When her face appeared on the video call screen, he couldn't read her expression.

"Hey, love," she said. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

"No, not at all, Sora," Matt replied, trying to hide his anxiety as he waited for her reason.

"There's someone I want you to see."

Someone? His eyes immediately moved to her stomach, where he saw that she was still carrying their first born inside of her belly.

Sora laughed as she recognized where he was looking. "I knew you'd assume it was the baby. We've still got a ways to go."

Matt had to laugh in relief. He expected to be at her side the moment their child was born and he wouldn't have missed it for the world.

"Okay, then, who is this someone?" he asked.

That was when Sora moved to the side from the camera and Matt drew in a long breath of surprise.

A familiar face appeared and drew closer to the screen, her bright blue eyes blinking and her beak seeming to touch the screen from the other side. Her pink feathers nearly covered the whole screen.

"Matt! Sora? Can he see me?"

"You don't have to stand so close to it, Biyomon," said Sora, giggling.

Matt was at a loss for words.

"Do you remember how Izzy said he would find a way to bring our Digimon back to us?" Sora asked Matt. "He found a way, Matt. He did it."

Matt's eyes began to sting with tears while he saw Sora wipe her eyes with the back of her hands. He remembered the very moment his own Digimon partner was gone, and those times afterward when he cradled Sora in his arms as she cried about losing hers.

"And now Sora has a Digi-Egg in her tummy!" Biyomon chirped.

"Is that what you told her?" Matt asked Sora, laughing as he wiped his tears away.

"I promise to help take care of your daughter in any way that I can!"

"Before you ask, Matt," Sora added. "She's not the only one who wants to help."

Matt couldn't believe his eyes with what happened next. Sora and Biyomon turned to look off camera, and Sora spoke a name that, even as he'd hoped, Matt didn't think he would hear again.

"Gabumon, why are you so far away?" Biyomon asked.

"Sora said not to stand so close to the camera," Gabumon said with a pout.

"Come over here, so that Matt can see you!" Sora said.

As soon as the blue furried Digimon appeared on screen, he blinked and he smiled cheerfully.

"It's so good to see you, Matt," he said.

"Gabumon…"

Matt couldn't stop crying. He wondered if he was crying as hard as he did when Gabumon disappeared before his very eyes. His tears blurred his vision, and he might have been convinced that Gabumon would disappear as soon as the tears washed the unbelievable sight away.

"Gabumon, are you real?" Matt had to ask.

"As real as the Digi-Egg inside of Sora!" Gabumon said with a grin.

"She told you that, too."

Matt was laughing now with his tears streaming down. That moment was enough to believe that Gabumon was real, and so was Biyomon, and the fact that only Izzy would find the miracle to bring the Digimon partners back. He couldn't wait to return home to hold Sora, and to hug Gabumon, two figures of his life that made him feel whole.

[alchemist-shizun]

Thinking of you keeps me awake

Read on Ao3!

Word count: 1,407

Pairing: Logicality

Warnings: There's surgery mention and a mention of an incident in a playground, nothing specific or graphic.

Summary: Logan has been testing out the new advanced technology that had just been created for surgery. Patton, a doctor at the same hospital, finds the machine one night and starts talking to it daily. Logan finds it out in the weirdest way, and crushing ensues.

A/N: Hi name's Ellie and I find inspiration in TV advertisings. Okay this was supposed to be a drabble but I can't physically write less than a thousand words. (pardon me I can't put the read more on mobile.) This is also the first fic I post here so I'll just let you read in peace while I will disappear in fear. (Look I rhymed) Feel free to point out any typo or mistake, English isn't my first language and I'm always one for learning! Thank you so much and without any further ado, enjoy your reading.

✾

Logan finally found relief in the comfortable chair in front of his desk. It had been a little over a month since they started using advanced technology at work, which permitted Logan to attend meetings and to his job at the same time.

They didn't really take into account that being a surgeon wasn't exactly a piece of cake and doubling his work-related stress didn't help at all.

But Logan had never minded pushing himself to the limit in order to save lives or learn something new. (A bad habit that he had been dragging along ever since youth.)

The "machine of the future", as they liked to call it, was this robotic device that could be controlled wireless from a long distance. All Logan had to do was turn his phone on and a projector would show him what the robot was seeing and he could interact with the projection.

For instance, there had been cases in which he was required both at an updating course on new discoveries and also at the operating room to operate on one of his patients.

With this new object, he could help his team while traveling, as soon as he found a quiet place.

Quite the jewel, wasn't it?

That was the reason a hidden camera was implemented in the machine, it functioned both while in use and while seemingly asleep. If anything touched it, it would send a notification to the database Logan had access to on his laptop.

He was used to check on it daily, of course. Especially at 2 a.m., when he was definitely not supposed to be asleep. Now, he wasn't messing with his circadian system, just touching it up a little to see-

« A notification? »

His heart started pounding as panic drove its way through his chest; his mind, though, tried to find all the possible positive outcomes.

It could have been just an incident, right? Someone moved it or touched it by accident. There was nothing to be worried about, or else it would have automatically sent a call to the police.

Yes, it had a complicated security system, but it was needed, considering it was the only device existing at the time.

Logan scrolled through his database and found the videotapes section. He checked on the least recent video; they got deleted by the system monthly, so he was used to only check on them once a month unless an issue like that occurred.

He went through the frame previews and stopped when he saw a figure at the back of the room. The video started playing.

Logan could only watch as the figure became a more distinct man with wavy hair who paced around the room.

There was something familiar about him, but maybe it was just the glasses he was wearing that oddly reminded him of his own pair.

The mysterious man (actually, he was probably a doctor given his white coat) turned to the robot's direction and gasped at its sight before approaching it.

It was something, to see that scene almost as if it had been playing right in front of his eyes.

But Logan wasn't a robot.

« Oh my, what do we have here? » the man spoke in the most sugary voice Logan had ever heard. He wondered how soothing he was with distressed patients.

« This is so cool! » he paced around the object, then stopped back at its front.

« Is someone there? I'm Patton! »

Oh- That's what it was. He had worked with Patton, once or twice, but he had been on his team for a fairly short time. Wasn't he the new one around?

« Cat got your tongue? » his chuckle was so soft he could have made the maddest beast grow gentle. « Oops! You don't have one. »

Logan snorted and shook his head, was it really just this guy goofing around until the end of the tape?

He made to close the video and move onto the next ones, when Patton looked up again.

« Oh! Uhm ... whoever's behind this- because I really don't know, none bothered to answer me when I asked. » this time his snicker was embarrassed, he almost felt bad for him.

« I don't know why they think I'm dumb. I mean I got a doctorate, you can't exactly make your way through that by playing dumb, right? » Patton looked exactly where the robot's camera was hidden. Logan felt his heart skip a beat and he couldn't pinpoint whether it was out of fear or something else.

« But here I am, venting to a soulless machine. Maybe they're right. » he scratched his neck and sighed.

Logan remembered suddenly how Patton's first period of time with them was filled with simple tasks and chores. He had always thought they were just using him and not letting him unleash his potential.

Until one of the oldest doctors had to retire and some space had been made for him too.

« Anyway, to whoever is doing the awesome job behind this, I hope you know you're amazing! » Patton flashed him a toothy grin, then waved, gathered the stuff he needed and left.

Logan went through the other tapes as quickly as possible, but couldn't help but stop and listen to whatever Patton had to say in every single one of them.

The sight of his bright smile was a cathartic experience and, essentially, all Patton really did was clean some spots in the room and give both the robot and Logan a pep talk.

He didn't realize how wide he was smiling thanks to all the "I'm proud of you"s, "Your work is amazing", "Look at how marvelous you are" or "You inspire me", not until he reached the last tape and his cheeks were soaring from all the stretching.

Logan passed his hands on his face, his clock barely counting down to 3:30 a.m.

He tried to shake off the giddy feeling he felt when Patton appeared on his screen once again.

Sometimes you just need constant but simple reminders.

« Patton! Did a real good job! » he entered the room dancing and humming in his tracks. « Hey, didn't see you there! »

He approached the camera skipping along the pavement, that was the happiest he had ever seen him in those videos.

He couldn't believe that happened that day and he had missed the opportunity to see his joy at less than a couple of paces away.

« I saw the family of your patient today. » Patton sounded as if he were reminiscing about the moment.

Logan digged in his earliest memories and remembered the serious conditions of his patient: they had been victim of a terrible accident at a local playground. A mere little kid.

They had to work on the child for hours before it was safe to assume they would survive.

« I wish you could have seen the relatives. Their reaction when I delivered the news just ... Made me realize why I really love this job. » he hesitated, letting the words sink in.

« You did that. » Patton looked right into the camera but this time Logan's chest didn't feel tight.

Instead, it filled with warmth. Pleased and content.

« It's all thanks to you. » his voice trailed off as his cerulean eyes wandered around a spot Logan couldn't see.

« Oh gee, let's get you cleaned up! »

Next thing he knew, Patton had cleared some blood from the robot's surface. So that was why it sent off the notification.

Logan was glad it turned out to be nothing serious.

Just a cute and bubbly doctor that managed to start stealing his heart away without anything more than a night and video tapes. Not even his beloved surgery was needed.

Wait, what was that thought just now?

Logan closed his laptop as soon as Patton walked out of the frame.

He felt like he could have seen him if he moved, he didn't want to ruin the peaceful atmosphere Patton brought.

Afterwards, he finally dedicated himself to the thought of getting some rest for the hopefully less stressful day ahead.

Even though Logan spent the first few seconds of his sleeping time mentally smacking himself for staying up late, which he didn't actually regret, he now knew who to go to during his next coffee break.

[carnoshin]

If you aren't too busy could I get some headcanons for poly stu n bill w a transman (or gender neutral if you prefer!) With an s/o who's highkey interested and helping stu n bill with murder but also may be a cannibal (if you're ok with writing cannibalism if not then I'm sorry-)

I’ll put some transman hcs in the queue for these boys! Cuz there’s a lot to cover for helping kill and cannibalism alone, lmao. Also, this got super long, so it’ll be under a cut~

If you weren’t a killer before you three started dating (or if they don’t know you are one), they’re a bit hesitant about letting you “help” with the killings.

They’ll have you on “call duty” for a couple of kills. At first, you’d call people who weren’t going to die that night– bring up the paranoia factor so they act dumber in the following days, ya know? That’ll escalate to calling people the night of the kill and literal seconds before the kill starts– you’ll be hearing people die on the other end of the call, for sure. If the call is still going after their target is bleeding out, they’ll be like “I’m almost done. Yeah, I’ll see you later at home. Love you, bye.” and it’s actually kind of sweet– both of the boys can get a bit of nerves on kills from the adrenaline, so it helps them settle down to finish everything off cleanly.

To be fair, it really does help Billy and Stu to have an extra hand (or voice) on the phone. Each of them can get alibis for separate nights, they can work together for more effective kills, etc. But it certainly gets boring on your end: you will have to bring it up and be vocal about wanting to go forward, because they know some people can handle the fantasy but not the real thing. Also, Billy really wants to get your first kill “right.” Stu, on the other hand, is more interested in your personal style.

So Stu jumps the gun and brings you with him on a kill (without telling Billy). Since he has an extra pair of hands, he’s going to want to get theatrical for the kill. I imagine he has several different cloaks(?) for the Ghostface costume itself, so you’d be wearing one of his extras as soon as you got near the house– unless you’re a giant like this man (he’s 6′3″, my god) it’s going to be safety-pinned to fit. He also just likes the idea of you wearing his clothes: he’s a sap, what can I say?

You’ll call the victim from the car (parked down the street and around the corner). You can hear him start the kill over the phone, but the phone gets discarded at some point– not hung up, the victim loses it somewhere along the way. He picks it up afterwards and he is winded; usually, you don’t talk to either of the boys until they’re completely done or close to it, already recovered from the workout that is murder. “Yeah, alright… Come on in.”

As soon as you’re inside, he’s just standing a bit away from the body, maybe leaning against the countertop in the kitchen. He just limply motions towards the dead girl on the floor nearby– god knows why the boys always picked the hardest people to kill; she was on the track team at the nearest college, no wonder Stu was so tired. “What now? What do you wanna do with it?” Again, this is sweet in a weird way: Stu is more personal with his kills, so he went out of his way to kill in a fairly common way just for you.

I’d hold off on being like “Well, it’d be such a waste to just leave their body out to rot: let’s eat it.” (Okay, you’d certainly phrase it differently, but still.) Even if you do suggest it, Stu would want to wait until you get a better grasp of killing– I genuinely think he’d be interested in it more than Billy would be.

When you get home, Billy would be. Um. Pissed? For several hours. You’d have to be the one to make him stop sulking, because he tends to be less gentle with Stu than he does you. Then he’d call Stu over: you three would cuddle the rest of the night– Billy in the middle, of course.

After this, you would get more involved with the kills. 

As for a cannibalistic s/o, on a more specific level:

It would be at earliest your fourth solo kill where the boys let you do whatever you want. It is your kill and you do have the hang of it. It’s very, like, weirdly like a parent asking their kid if they want a toy. Billy’s just like. “Well, if you really want to, you can do whatever you want with the body.”

Like I said, Stu is more interested in it than Billy. Billy is convinced he already knows what human meat tastes like, despite never trying it– it’s called longpork for a reason, right? (Eh. Arguably: consistency is like a tough, stringy veal and taste is between veal and pork.) 

Honestly, Billy’s just not open to the experience. He’s convinced he has a motive for every kill he does, compared to you two: Stu does it for fun, you’re still figuring out the “why” (even if you already know, he’d be convinced you were still finding your reasoning for months.)

Stu is interested in it. He wouldn’t casually eat human meat (and he would never eat it uncooked; he’s kind of picky in the first place), but he would be more inclined to eat it after getting back from a kill– it’s a special occasion thing. At first, that is. 

He eventually starts to get cravings for it in the same way one might get a craving for pizza. If there’s not a killing set out for that night, you’ll just move one forward. Stu calls it “going chopping,” which always gets a groan out of Billy.

Catch Billy shaking his head and whining impatiently to the side as Stu and you carve up a body after a kill, even if there’s no reason to rush. He always feels like the three of you will get caught, especially with literally filleting your victim added to the murders.

[bethanyactually]

Prime numbers :P

All of them!? Okay, I’ll give it a shot. :P And I’m gonna tag @evanberries too, because I think all the ones she asked for are answered here.

i.1: Favorite book that was read to you before you could read?

…I actually don’t remember not knowing how to read. I started reading when I was 2, and one of my earliest book-related memories is telling my mom that I wanted to just read to myself, that it was faster and I could read more books that way. Another early memory is of reading our loud to my 17-months-younger brother. I’ve always preferred either reading to myself or doing the reading to being read to.

i.2: Favorite book that you read before the age of eight?

The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare. Or possibly From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konisberg.

i.3: Favorite book that you read before the age of thirteen?

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee.

i.5: Favorite book that you read for a class in high school?

Probably Lord of the Flies by William Golding. I read a bunch of classics in high school that were either meh or unenjoyable, but I did like that one.

i.7: Favorite book written in the 19th century?

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

i.11: answered here

i.13: Favorite book that’s a biography?

American on Purpose by Craig Ferguson

i.17: Favorite book that you stayed up too late finishing then couldn’t sleep?

I’ve stayed up way too late finishing many, many books in my life, but I don’t think I ever had trouble getting to sleep afterward.

i.19: Favorite book that feels bright and radiant?

So, this might be a weird answer, given that something fairly sad happens at the end of the book, but The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. I think it’s the fact that most of the story takes place in space, in a fairly hopeful and amazing future, that makes me feel that way.

ii.1: What book is your least favorite book assigned for school?

Either Charles Dickens’s Hard Times, which felt like it took years to read, or George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss, which was plodding and depressing.

ii.2: What book is the first book you remember reading?

One book I remember from very early childhood is The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover, a Sesame Street book by Joe Stone and Mike Smollin that my brother LOVED. He wanted it read to him constantly when he was a toddler, and it was a fun book to read out loud, so I read it to him a lot.

One of the first books I remember having a big impact on me is the classic picture book One Morning in Maine by Robert McCloskey. I was about six when I read it, and it sparked a fascination with Maine that lasted for years. (I finally got to visit Maine in my mid-20s, and it’s a beautiful place.)

ii.3: What book is the last book you remember having read to you?

I honestly don’t know. Probably one of my kids reading something out loud to me.

ii.5: What book is the book you’re most likely to recommend to someone regardless of who it is?

The Princess Bride by William Goldman. I actually buy it every time I see it at used book shops or thrift stores so I have extra copies on hand to give to people.

ii.7: What book is the worst book you’ve ever read by choice?

If I’m reading a book and I don’t like it, I stop reading it.

iii.1: Character who reminds you of yourself?

Meg March in Little Women. She’s a big sister, she’s very practical and responsible, and she maybe does that thing where she ignores her own emotions till she can’t ignore them anymore and then they kind of erupt a little bit. I relate to her and love her a lot. (Ditto for Beezus Quimby in the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary. I loved Ramona but I always felt so sorry for Beezus.)

iii.2: Character who is the best narrator?

I have a big soft spot for Claire Walsh in Marian Keyes’s Watermelon. She’s a mess but she loves with her whole heart and she’s really good at finding the humor in things.

iii.3: Character who you looked up to most as a child?

probably Dicey Tillerman from Cynthia Voigt’s Tillerman Family Cycle.

iii.5: Character who you could analyze indefinitely?

Harry James Potter. ♥︎

iii.7: Character who you would NEVER date in real life but find attractive in theory?

…can I just plead demisexuality here? If I find a character attractive in theory then I would probably be willing to date them, if I weren’t married. :P Lincoln O’Neill from Rainbow Rowell’s Attachments, Park Sheridan from Rainbow’s Eleanor & Park, Levi Stewart from Rainbow’s Fangirl, Cormoran Strike, George Knightley from Jane Austen’s Emma.

iii.11: answered here

iii.13: Character who you hate the most without them being a villain?

Matthew Cunliffe in the Cormoran Strike books. (Fucking Matthew, ugh.)

iii.17: Character who is the most morally intriguing?

Jaime Lannister from George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series. Really, a lot of the characters in those books are really fascinating in that they’re all depicted in many shades of gray.

iii.19: Character who you would want to be friends with?

Beth and Jennifer from Attachments by Rainbow Rowell. Robin Ellacott from the Cormoran Strike books. Ginny Weasley from the Harry Potter books.

Whew! :) Thanks, Kate. And thank you to anyone who managed to read all of this, go get yourself a cookie or something.

[midnight-in-town]

No matter who Undertaker is I really hope we will get a proper flashback in the near future like next chapter if sensei can do thatThe fandom has been discussing the real identity of UT for years now.I think it's time we get answers and if he is indeed Cedric do you think he isn't revealing himself because he was a crappy husband and dad and is ashamed of himself

Hello Anon! Um, not to be killing the mood, but I’m 99.999% certain we won’t get a flashback for UT anytime soon, unfortunately. :/

Othello gave us what he knows about UT already… 

which is to say not so much: nothing about his life and nothing about after he deserted. So yeah, we’ll definitely get a flashback for these parts of UT’s backstory, but it won’t be that soon in my opinion (in this arc maybe, but since the pace is 20 page a month, it’ll take maybe a year if not two).

As for UT’s identity, I definitely think we’re getting more and more hints towards the fact he could be Cedric K. Ros– aka the father of Vincent and Frances, yes, because…

no real name revealed as a shinigami (it’s both a hint towards being Cedric + a hint that he probably had a shitty life, otherwise he wouldn’t dehumanize himself using a number as an identity), 

hints that he could have been an aristocrat for a time

hints of strong feelings towards Claudia P and her family

But that doesn’t mean that we’ll get an answer soon there either. 

Look at the 2CT, it’s been going on for ten years before we got an answer, meanwhile theories about UT being related to Ciel started with vol 8 at the earliest. I’m definitely hoping for an answer at the end of this arc, but even then there is no way to guarantee it. xD

“do you think he isn’t revealing himself because he was a crappy husband and dad and is ashamed of himself”

Well, sure, there might be some of that, if just in case he might blame himself or the circumstances of the P family for Claudia’s probable murder. Besides, we know he isn’t the best relative of the year (looking at how he handled the Campania, knowing Ciel and the Midfords were there too). 

In fact, that used to be my main theory for these last few months: that maybe he ran away, abandoning everything after Claudia’s death, only to come back as “the Undertaker” a few years later in order to keep an eye on Vincent (see here).

Lately though, with what “names” and identities represent in the story, I tend to think that, if he’s Cedric, UT possibly made the choice to abandon this identity in order to become “the Undertaker”…

…abandoning his place in the P family as “Cedric” at the same time.

This could explain the theory that Frances despises him: she lost her mom when she was something like 12 years old. If that caused her to lose her dad because he couldn’t cope with what had happened, leaving her alone while Vincent was at Weston, I could understand her having a problem with him. 

Anyway, I think that if he’s Cedric, he can’t be both Cedric and UT at the same time, or so he thinks: this is what comes up with the theme of names/identity in Kuroshitsuji. So he’d rather stay an evil noble, who helps the Watchdog, making sure that…

…instead of being a simple relative who couldn’t avoid the death of the woman he loved (without mentioning the death of the man who possibly was his son). 

It’s all theoretical at this point obviously, but I smell issues: Tanaka says nothing while UT goes on a rampage, as if they know each other and Tanaka can’t hold him back; Frances is nowhere to be seen; UT won’t expand on his link to this family while real!Ciel seems to know and our!Ciel is as lost as ever. 

But look at what Ciel did after his brother died: taking on his identity, because he thought his family would be happier to have his brother back? Well, UT could have done something similar: discarding “Cedric K. Ros-” after Claudia’s death to become the Undertaker, because that was how he thought he had the best chance at helping Vincent (and then Ciel) with the Watchdog’s duty. 

For now, I think that’s possibly what happened. :) Take with a grain of salt as always, though. 

Sorry for rambling, but I hope it’s understandable. Please have a nice day! :3 

Hello Anon and I definitely agree with you! I can’t wait for Sensei to expand on this, the way she expanded on what happened 4 years ago. :)

You mentioned the lockets, but there is also his previous life, his time as a Shinigami, why he deserted and what he did afterwards, how he met Claudia, if he’s related to Ciel, etc. 

Honestly? I think the tropes that are surrounding UT’s character are nothing super original (or so I say, but his type as a character is one I’m completely weak to, in fiction), but the context makes everything more interesting. 

It’s already very easy to imagine that he lived a shitty existence for possibly centuries, until he hopefully found love and family thanks to Claudia Phantomhive, only for this to be violently taken away from him twice. 

I don’t know how deep Yana will go, since she might need a flashback and all, but like you I hope she’ll expand as she did with Ciel, whose character and personal development are a big part of why this series is so good.

Thanks for passing by Anon! Glad you love UT like me :3 Have a nice day!

[quality-street-rat]

The Clown!

How Clowns Have Become Scary

Matthew Burgess

Part One

Clowns, jesters, fools, and other such figures have existed since the days of ancient Egypt. Rome had figures known as Stupidus, and fifth-dynasty Egypt had pygmy clowns. Through the centuries, all clowns had and have one powerful connection; that of misrule, excess, and the unpredictable. They mimic and ridicule, they riddle and tease. They perform over-the-top, crazy antics. They cause mayhem and enjoy it, usurping law and order with unhinged slapstick. However, clowns are just one historical monster that can bring terror to people. Studying monsters brings understanding of the past and the present and shows a great deal of human nature.  

Part Two

The word monster has roots in Latin, and the root words mean to warn. Stone Age humans had monsters of their own, and massive biblical monsters haunted other early humans. The idea of the Devil breaks off into other concepts such as demonic possession, witches, and the Antichrist. Jeffery Jerome Cohen posits that “The Monster Always Escapes.” What he means by this is that no monster is ever really killed or gotten rid of. The death or disappearance of one monster either makes room for a new one or provides an opportunity for the original monster to return with a new face. However, every time the monster returns, its meaning will change based on what is happening in society at that time. No monster ever really dies.  

A monster might be new to some people. For example, if Pennywise the Clown only appears every twenty-seven years, then he is new to the people who are children when he comes back. If an urban legend is forgotten because it is no longer relevant, then when the situation is the same in the future, the urban legend will re-surface. As Poole says in Monsters in America, (page 22) “History is horror.” This also refers to the situation out of which a monster is born. Before the Salem Witch Trials, people were less concerned with piety. Some social switch flipped, and suddenly everyone was obsessed with finding the evil and unworthy in their society.  

There are several other theories that help understand monsters through history and are key concepts that aid in studying them. A few that stand out are integral to monster culture. The monster is never just what it appears to be. It is a representation of some fear or desire that people experience. The monster defies classification, which also means that they clash with the concept of binaries and logic. Monsters in general are made of things that are distinctly “other,” or outliers to the idea of “normal.” They invite the removal of moral dimensions and make excuses for eradication of the “other.”  Monsters are warnings, are representations of both fear and desire, are harbingers of the transitional future. These all tell the story of history and, more specifically, American history. Poole says “The American past...is a haunted house. Ghosts rattle their chains throughout its corridors, under its furniture, and in its small attic places. The historian must resurrect monsters in order to pull history’s victims out of...’the mud of oblivion.’ The historian’s task is necromancy, and it gives us nightmares.” (Monsters in America, Page 24)

Part 3

When my mother was eleven years old, her parents sat her down to watch the original IT movie. She tells me that she had nightmares and trouble sleeping for at least a month afterwards. When I was growing up, clowns were not mentioned. My siblings and I knew that clowns existed because there was a friendly clown named Pooky that we saw once a year at my father’s annual work party. Until I was twelve or thirteen Pooky was the only reference for the word “clown” that I had. After that, I started learning world history and learned about clowns in the context of circuses. To me they were silly people who wore polka dots and colorful wigs, and who painted their faces with the intention to entertain. The concept of the scary clown wasn’t even a shred of an idea to me until later.  

When I was fifteen I started going to school for the first time. I suddenly had access to the internet and began absorbing every piece of pop culture that I could possibly handle. The trailers for the new IT movie were just starting to come out, and people were reporting scary clown sightings all over the country. I personally was not then and am not now scared of clowns. However, I could see that people were terrified of them and that fascinated me. I was more interested in the intentions of the people behind the masks than the unexpected presence of them. Fast forward to 2018, and I started watching American Horror Story. Seasons four and six heavily featured clowns as something scary. There was Twisty the Clown with his terrifying blown off mouth and tendency to kidnap children and attempt to entertain them, and there was the cult who wore clown masks and intimidated Sarah Paulson’s character. The cult was more effective than not because of the character’s coulrophobia, or fear of clowns. 1 Around the same time I watched the movie Suicide Squad, and became similarly fascinated with the character of the Joker. I started doing research and found that Jared Leto’s Joker was not the first one. There was a theory that proposed that there were three different Jokers, regardless of actor or illustrator. One, the thief and killer. Two, the silly one who had no real reason to perform any of his evil deeds, known as the “Clown Prince of Crime.” Third, the homicidal maniac.  

As I’ve said, I am not afraid of clowns. But the reason why people are afraid of them enthrall me. Firstly, clowns are allowed to say things that the rest of us can’t. They dress up their words as jokes, but they can say the most shocking and inappropriate things. They can challenge those in power with no consequences. Second, humans inherit fear. Studies done in Georgia and Canada show that fear of a thing can be passed down through a family line. For example, if a parent was mauled by a tiger, and then had a child and disappeared, the child would be frightened if they saw a tiger. Also, the face paint of a clown elicits the same response as the uncanny valley. Clowns were first thought to be scary in the late 1940’s and 1950’s. Clowns worked very closely with children. Adults began to get paranoid about these clowns, grown men, abusing their children. Maybe some were, but the majority merely wanted to make the children laugh and smile. The adults started to tell their children to avoid the clowns. Later in the 80’s, slasher films were on the rise. Moviemakers were making anything into killers. Audrey the plant, cute little gremlins, worms, blobs, and clowns. Stephen King’s IT was written and released during this time. Since then, many scary clowns have existed. The Joker, Harley Quinn the Harlequin, Pennywise, Twisty, the Jigsaw puppet, the Terrifier. These all serve as a cultural lens to help explain social changes.  

Part 4

The monster of the clown resonates with me because the idea of the scary clown is so wide-spread and can now be passed off as an “everyone knows that” statement. The why fascinates me. Clowns represent the both the fear of truth and the fear of lies. Clowns can say the unsayable and topple those in power with the truth. On the other hand, their fixed grins and otherwise blank faces are the embodiment of a lie, because you can’t tell who they are behind the mask.  

From the earliest days of human history, there was some form of a clown. The clowns always had something to represent, and they always came back. To look at another point of view, most clowns were simple entertainers turned into frighteners by people who wanted to dispose of them. However, the clowns that were actually scary (Pennywise, Jigsaw, etc.) were warnings of what might happen if you mess with the truth. Pennywise changes form; he is the embodiment of lies. Jigsaw is transparent about his intentions; he is the cold, hard, bitter truth.  

The sometimes-maudlin behavior of clowns invites sympathy. It suggests that maybe they are simply misunderstood, that maybe they deserve to be loved. However, they always snap back with something unexpected. It is a general consensus in the monster-f**ker community that clown-f**kers are the lowest of the low. However, if I may loosely quote one of my online followers on the subject: “...Sir Pennywise is a shnack.” Unfortunately, the spelling is a direct quote. I cannot pretend to know why people are attracted to clowns, Pennywise especially, but they are and there’s unfortunately nothing to be done about it.  

Putting aside peoples’ attraction to clowns, to close this thought I’d like to quote Derek Kilmer in saying “the stories we tell say something about us.” Clowns may not be everyone’s fear. However, the culture we as people created also created clowns and the fear of them.  

Part 5

Studying monsters can be a useful endeavor. History of America is the history of monsters. Therefore, if you study monsters, you study America. From the dehumanization of Native Americans by the Pilgrims to the fascination with aliens today, monsters have shaped America and been shaped by American society. This theory is called Reciprocal Determination. Instead of one thing causing another, two things cause each other. America’s society has been shaped by witches, by vampires, by zombies, by clowns. And society has, in return, created the monsters it claims to hate so much. People care about monsters. We created them, as they create us.  

Clowns represent America’s relationship with truth. Depending on the kind of clown and when it appears, we can determine how Americans deal with lies. Early in the century, clowns were more jovial and friendly. People were complacent with letting bad things get swept under the rug. Harsh truths and cruel facts were ignored and glossed over. Abused spouses and homosexual relationships along with literal genocide and corrupt leadership had people looking the other way, because they were more concerned with image than anything else. But as time went on, people became less concerned with image and more concerned with truth. There are of course those who still value image over truth, but they are the minority. Corrupt leaders cannot hide anymore. LGBT+ folk can finally openly live their truth. Abuse is not tolerated. But at the same time, the clowns are getting scarier. Some people might say that this is simply correlation and not causation, and that is also a valid view, but I believe that it is, without a doubt, causation.  

Monsters teach us not only our history, but who we are. They tell us the truth behind our lies. They challenge the master narrative and demonstrate impermanent borders between morality, truth, fear, and desire.  

Footnotes

1 This phobia was also featured in the long-running show Supernatural, however in that show it’s played for humor.

[thisstableground]

Thank you so much for being one of like 3 people on the internet who writes docs with Ruben in them!!! Could you write fluff with Ruben making breakfast?

[This isn’t fluff! I apologise! It was supposed to be but it turned into Ruben in a bittersweet but not unhappy introspection about four months into his recovery, having a nourishing breakfast with a side of slow but steady emotional healing. So, y’know, classic thisstableground content. Warning for PTSD things, implied past suicidal thoughts, and also for some kinda disordered eating talk.]

Also on AO3!

***

Ruben had always been under the impression that near death experiences were supposed to come with new appreciation of the life you almost lost. He had a whole run of them and only came away with a blurred recollection of what now feels like someone else’s rescue: he doesn’t remember having to be sedated for the plane back, or arriving at a Philadelphia hospital that thankfully wasn’t Independence Memorial. He doesn’t remember seeing his family again for the first time in months. The earliest thing he can recall from his return is that Ma was the one who was there to stop him when he tried to tear out his own IV and make a break for it.

“The doctor said you have to stay here for just a little while, sweetheart,” she’d explained, as he begged her to let him leave. “You’ve lost too much weight, and you have a fever. They want to make sure you’re going to be okay before you come back home.”

He remembers thinking, I’m never going to be okay. But they treated him for dehydration, fed him gritty-textured nutrition shakes and hospital food he had no appetite for till he started to put on weight again, put him on antibiotics for the infection from poorly-cared for wounds that had hit him with the fever, and after a few weeks they let him go back to live with his ma.

Near death hasn’t gifted him with a new lease on life so far. At best he’s been having life pushed on him while he passively lets it happen. When he wakes up hours before everyone else, he lies there with the day a vast, black expanse of vacuum and inside himself the same expanse, and wants to go back to sleep forever. Ma is the one who makes him get up, knocks on his locked door in the morning and tells him that she’s made breakfast so he needs to come downstairs and eat before she leaves. She does’t believe him when he says he eats while she’s at work, which is fair. He didn’t at first. Hunger has just been the background noise of consciousness for a long enough time he forgot what it meant.

From those early days he remembers her trying to grasp his thin wrist gently in one hand, and how she looked when he shied away from her touch, and her voice tearfully saying, “look at yourself, cariño, there’s almost nothing left of you”.  He remembers thinking, good. If there’s nothing left of him then there’s nothing anyone can take from him. If he’s nothing but hollow no matter what, then what could hungry even mean any more?

But he’d eat, only because it was easier than lying to Ma about it, and because it was easier than making her cry again. And life pushed on him pushes him to live: he goes to therapy. He exists. He wakes up in the morning, every morning, even though there’s nothing to wake up to when the trial in April is over, the now what of May and June.

In July he wakes up, and thinks about lying here all day, and thinks about the gnawing feeling of unfilled space echoing around his body, and thinks, I want arroz con leche.

What? Jesus. When was the last time he wanted anything?

Breakfast sounds…good, though. Good enough that it seems too long to wait for Ma to get up in an hour. Even though he’s got nothing but time it’s somehow a lot harder to let the minutes slip by when there’s actually something he could do about what he wants, so after fidgeting around restlessly for a while he gives into it and unlocks his door. Crouches at the top of the stairs to peek through the railings into the living room below, like he used to in their first house in Philadelphia when he was eavesdropping on Ma having whispered disagreements with his father about Ruben when they thought that he was sleeping.

Nobody in the living room, or in the dining room when he tiptoes down there. He leans around the doorway of the kitchen, nobody in there. Ground floor cleared for safety he can relax some, putting the rice and cinnamon sticks on to boil and opening a can of condensed milk to add later. As he’s taking a bowl out of the cupboard, he realises that when he woke up feeling empty his first thought was that’s probably because I’m hungry not that’s because I wish I was dead. He drops the bowl on the counter in shock: it clatters loudly but doesn’t break.

“Shit!” he curses, gripping the edge of the bowl tightly and trying not to let the sound fling him into fight-or-flight, and then repeats “shit,” when he hears the sound of a door opening on the floor above and then footsteps down the stairs. Ma’s room is above the kitchen. She must have heard him.

“It’s only me, Ma,” he calls softly.

“Rubén?” She comes to the kitchen. “¿Estás bien?”

“Sí, just dropped a bowl.”

“You’re up very early,” she says. Ruben’s pretty sure she means, you’re up at all?

“I’m making arroz con leche. You can go back to bed, it’s okay.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I got it.” Don’t be irritated. It’s a reasonable question. Still, he’s glad that she leaves the room instead of watching him, though he pauses to hear her footsteps and can tell she hasn’t gone back upstairs. She’s probably listening out for him from the living room. Don’t be irritated at that, either.

The rice simmers gently releasing cinnamon-scented steam and Ruben dips a finger into the can of condensed milk to taste it while he waits. Arroz con leche reminds him of sick days off school: insisting he needed to go in to stay on top of his work, but secretly relieved when Ma refused because it meant being able to stay in the quiet, just him and the one person he could always rely on, the way he’d always preferred things to be. She’d cook the rice while he went upstairs to bring his quilt and a pillow down to the sofa and then when he was tucked in comfortably she’d bring him a bowlful, that comforting mixture of warm and spiced and sweet but still bland enough to be easy to eat when he had no appetite. He’d feed spoonfuls from his own bowl to Paola and Mercedes when they were babies too, his way of letting them know sick days used to be for just me and Mamá, but it’s okay that you’re here now too.

When it’s ready he dishes out two bowls, puts raisins on Ma’s but not his own. Makes two coffees, both black with cinnamon, and takes one bowl and one mug on a tray into the living room. Ma is sitting on the sofa in her bathrobe, absent-mindedly pencilling answers into the newspaper crossword.

“Desayuno,” he says, putting the tray down on the coffee table.

“Oh, gracias,” she says, putting a hand over her heart. “What a nice surprise.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise for him to do something so simple as this for her, he thinks. He stands for a minute watching as she sets her newspaper down and picks up the tray. When he was growing up she always used to watch the news in the morning but they don’t do that any more after half the local news was him for so long. Ruben might be old news now but they still don’t watch it: there’s enough sadness in their lives without having to learn the sadness of the rest of the world too. What does she do to fill the time before work instead? Does she do the crossword every day? Does she sit in the stillness of the early hours listening out for him and the girls, trying to anticipate what kind of morning they might have? Psyching herself up to pull him out of his room to come eat, dreading how difficult he’ll make it for her today, and all while she’s got her actual job to go to afterwards. Does she think about him staying home from school when he was little too, and wonder like he does if he’ll be here in a second childhood forever, long after the girls grow up, just Ruben and her and long, quiet, empty days?

She didn’t sign up for this. She must think it, but she never says it to his face, never lets it show. He leans in to give her a tentative kiss on the cheek, and says, “I love you, Mamá.” It comes out a little pitiful.

“I love you too, cariño,” she says, patting his wrist. “Don’t forget to eat your own breakfast, now.”

In the kitchen, he covers the rest of the rice over so that the girls can have it when they wake up, and contemplates going to eat next to Ma on the couch or maybe the dining room, but instead end up sitting on the kitchen counter by the window because that’s the best spot at this time of day. The sun’s just coming up, spilling in clear and luminant across the windowsill. He’s always said Ma has a perfect spot to grow herbs there, but she’s never got round to doing it. Maybe he’ll do it for her one day, when he’s more certain of his ability to take care of something consistently. Maybe one day he’ll even have a place of his own again, a nice bright little kitchen full of herbs, drinking coffee and—no, that’s too much to think about for now. For now, he’s having breakfast on the counter in the growing sunlight by the window in his mother’s kitchen, and that has to be enough. Alive enough to remember that he can do nice things for other people, alive enough to remind his family that he loves them. He remembered how to feel that, if nothing else. He remembered how to make arroz con leche like Ma used to and that cinnamon and sweet and warm are all things that he can still feel good about. He isn’t ready to be happy that he’s alive yet. But at this particular moment, he’s glad he isn’t dead. That will have to be enough.